


Operation Soulmate

by a_splash_of_stucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Descriptions of depression, Love Confessions, Multi, Pining Reader, Pining Steve Rogers, Reader-Insert, Soulmate AU, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, complicated love triangles, descriptions of physical pain, descriptions of self-neglect, mild violence, stucky fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-22 16:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11971695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_splash_of_stucky/pseuds/a_splash_of_stucky
Summary: Whose happiness matters more: yours, or that of your friends? How far will you go in the name of love?OrAn AU with a whole lot of miscommunication and self-sacrificing. Really, this is just a bunch of complicated love-and-friendship triangles





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a soulmate AU before, so please be kind. This story was inspired by the word 'Heart'. I kid you not, I saw 'Heart' and I thought: "Yes. Hearts. I shall break them."
> 
> Appreciate the fluff while it lasts. Things get _intensely_ angsty somewhere down the line.
> 
> And lastly: the archive warning is simply a precaution. There _is_ violence in this fic, but I'm not sure that it classifies as graphic. I've decided to err on the side of caution, with this one.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a confession to make.

Steve is in a mood.

He’s been acting like an ominous storm cloud is hanging over his head the entire morning. It was noticeable when he came back from his run, but is now even  _more_  apparent, as he’s had time to stew in his thoughts for far too long. When Steve Rogers starts over-thinking things, it’s pretty fucking difficult to get his headspace back into somewhere positive. He’s stubborn like that.

You’re eating lunch together, sitting side-by-side at the kitchen island. Your attempts to start up a conversation with Steve are met by a brick wall — you’re getting nothing out of him besides the occasional grunt and some monosyllabic replies. Eventually, you stop trying, resigning yourself to an eerily silent meal.

Once you’ve cleared away the dishes and set them in the dishwasher, you lean against the counter and observe him. Steve is sat across from you, shoulders hunched and expression solemn. He’s twirling his glass in his hands, staring into it as if it has all the answers he’s looking for. You know that if you don’t intervene sooner rather than later, he’s either going to do something reckless to take his mind off things, or he’s going to let this weight bear down on his shoulders until it finally consumes him.

Most likely, both.

Tentatively, you walk around the island, coming up behind him and looping your arms over his shoulders. You rest your chin on top of his head as you cross your wrists in front of his chest. “Steve? What’s up, babe?” you murmur, using your finger to trace invisible patterns on his collarbone, “Something bothering you?”.

Steve makes a little noise of affirmation, but doesn’t bother to elaborate. He reaches up and brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, stroking it idly as the silence draws on. Though you can’t see his face, you can visualise his expression: brows knitted, corners of the mouth downturned and jaw tense. Waves of jumbled-up thoughts are practically radiating off of him.

After a while of you holding him, Steve finally exhales sharply. “It’s okay, Y/N. I’m fine,”.

“Liar,” you mumble, rubbing your cheek over his fine blonde hair affectionately.

That earns you a chuckle. “Yeah, guess you’re right. I don’t really wanna talk about it right now, though,”, says Steve, moving to get out of his chair

“But you will? Later?” you prompt, stepping back as you release him from your hold.

Steve smiles at you, but it’s a mere shadow of his real one, the edges of it strained and forced. “Later,” he promises, “I gotta go now, though. I promised Wanda I’d train with her this afternoon,”.

“Okay,” you say, leaning up on your toes to peck him on the cheek, “Have fun. See you,”.

—————————

You don’t see him for the rest of the afternoon. Avoidance, especially when it comes to emotions, is very much a Steve thing to do. You’d tried to work him out of this bad habit in the time you’ve been together, but the Cap’s as stubborn as a mule, and there’s not much you can change about him.

This mood he’s in is nothing new. Your relationship has been  _far_  from perfect in the two years that you’ve been together — it’s not easy for two individuals working so closely with each other to maintain a healthy balance between their work and personal lives.  _Especially_ with jobs as life-threatening as yours are.

The two of you find yourselves constantly bickering over mission-related maybes and what-ifs, worried about the health and safety of the other person; with Steve’s tendency to jump headfirst into danger without a second thought, you find yourself nagging at him more often than you’d like. In some cases, arguments have gotten so heated between you that neither of you can bear to be in the same room as the other person. On those days, Steve usually ends up crashing with Bucky, and Natasha or Wanda swings by your room for some much-needed girl talk. At some point though, you and Steve find a way to make it up to each other. No fight between you has ever gone unresolved.

But this funk he’s in—it’s different. Steve’s not angry with you. In fact, he’s not even  _angry_  per se, just…closed off. It’s like something is weighing heavy on his mind. As his significant other, you can’t help but wonder if it’s something that you’ve said or done recently.

As of late, your love story seems to have taken a turn for the worse. It’s like you’ve lost the spark that keeps your romance alive. You still love Steve dearly, but…things have happened in the last three years, and Steve is no longer the man you met on your first visit to the compound. The burden of being Captain America is heavier than it’s ever been before, his responsibilities and public image a deadweight he carries everywhere. Everyday is a constant uphill battle for him, so it’s no wonder that work has taken a toll on your relationship. And besides, you’re not the same woman either; you’re battle-hardened, now, shields up and more robust than ever. You still enjoy being with Steve, and the two of you still deeply care for each other, but if you’re honest with yourself, you have doubts that your romance will last for much longer.

And, knowing Steve, you figure that he’ll probably be too much of a gentleman to break up with you, if and when the need arises. That leaves you with the uncomfortable knowledge that one day, you’ll be delivering the bad news to  _him_. It’s a depressing thought.

But first, Steve promised that he would talk to you, and a talk is what you shall have. Perhaps that will be enough to clear the air between you two, and, if you can find the courage to tell him how you feel, maybe you can both endeavour to rekindle the spark, reignite the fire in your relationship. With some effort from the both of you, maybe it’s possible for you to be as in love with each other as you were in those blissful first few months.

In the end, you come to the conclusion that stressing yourself out by speculating on the thoughts flying around in Steve’s head will do you no good. He promised to talk to you, and you fully intend on holding him to his word. For now, you need to occupy yourself to take your mind off things.

Half an hour later, you find yourself in the sprawling back gardens of the compound, doing some training of your own. You are an enhanced individual, the result of countless experiments and extensive testing run by a cult masquerading as a group of science-fanatics. They were hell-bent on re-creating and bettering the super-soldier serum, but did so by summoning dark energy in a series of demonic rituals. As a result, you’d come out of the ordeal with increased agility, stamina and strength — though nothing compared to what Steve had — in addition to the ability to manipulate wind. You’re able to create anything ranging from a gentle breeze, to gale-force gusts.

The focus of your session today is levitation — specifically, levitation of large objects. You don’t know _how_ exactly they came about, but Tony has managed to amass a variety of large boulders, fallen trees, and even scrap metal, for you to train with. You focus on keeping the items in the air for as long as possible, refining your control of your powers.

After an exhausting, but rewarding couple of hours, you decide to call it a day and head back to the room you share with Steve for a shower. When you pick up your phone from the kitchen counter, you discover that Steve’s sent you a message.

 **SR:**   _Going out to dinner and drinks with Sam. Don’t wait up_.

You sigh inwardly, knowing that this is his way of avoiding a confrontation with you. Nonetheless, you text him back:

_Ok. See u later._

And, for good measure, you add:

_Don’t think ur getting off the hook so easily._

The rest of your evening passes without incident. Sweaty from your work out, you take a nice long shower, then dress in one of Steve’s shirts and a pair of leggings. Dinner consists of yesterday’s leftovers, eaten on the couch whilst watching re-runs of Gossip Girl.

Steve comes into the bedroom just as you’re climbing into bed.

“Hey,” he murmurs, giving you a wan smile as he heads to the bathroom. Steve presses a kiss to the top of your head when he brushes past you.

“Good time with Sam?” you ask, getting under the covers and fussing with the pillows for a little, trying to get comfortable.

“Yeah, it was good,” Steve replies, “Gonna take a shower now, ‘kay?”

“M’kay,” you mumble, pulling the covers over you and turning off your bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness, save for the sliver of light spilling in from the bathroom. Steve has left the door slightly ajar, and you find yourself fading in and out of sleep, lulled by the pitter-patter of water droplets hitting the tiles floor. You don’t know how much time passes, but some moments later, Steve emerges in a cloud of steam — that man loves his showers burning hot — with a towel slung low on his hips. Through half-lidded eyes, you watch him pad over to his dresser and pull out a pair of loose sweats to sleep in.

Steve dries his hair, then tosses the towel into the laundry hamper, before sliding into bed beside you and wrapping his arms around your body. You nuzzle your nose into the hollow of his throat and curl yourself around his larger form, breathing in the scent of his cucumber body wash. He’s warm and familiar, making you feel safe and secure.

Despite this, you can’t ignore the tension in his body. Though you’ve relaxed into his touch, Steve has not done likewise. For a while, the only thing you can hear is the steady thud of his heart beneath your ear, coupled with his deep, steady breaths. “I’ve got something to tell you,” Steve whispers. You wait patiently for him to continue, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought. It’s clear that he’s been building up to this moment for the entire day. “You’re…not gonna like what I have to say,”.

A sickening feeling settles in your gut, but you force it aside. “It’s okay,” you breathe, “I still wanna hear it,”.

Steve starts to run his fingers up and down your arm, a gesture he does subconsciously when he’s nervous like this. “I—I love you,” he says, “But…I also…love…someone else,”.

It feels like someone’s twisting a knife into your chest, stabbing you straight through your heart. Your mind kicks into overdrive, a million questions racing through it as you wonder who this second girl could be. Natasha? No, he respects her too much to let their current arrangement devolve into something romantic. It’s certainly not Wanda — she’s like a little sister to him. Maybe it’s another girl? From outside the compound, perhaps.

“Hey, hey,” Steve soothes, nudging your chin with his finger until you tip your head back to look at him. He chuckles softly, “I can hear you thinking from over here, sweetheart. Lemme finish a sec, okay?”. At your nod, he continues, “I haven’t…done anything about it, before you start wondering. I’d never cheat on you, baby, my ma raised me too good to do that,”

You snort. “Thank god for Sarah Rogers,”, you mutter.

Steve smiles, “Yes indeed,”. A pause, then, “Honey, I don’t think it’s fair for me to still be with you when I love someone else. I know you’ve noticed it — things just haven’t been the same between us in the last few months. And it’s not your fault, I don’t ever want you to think that. It’s—it’s me. It’s my fault,”. He chokes up at that last bit, and your already damaged heart breaks even more at the sound of his wrecked voice.

“Steve,” you chide, “Not everything has to be your fault, okay? Yes, I’ve noticed our relationship coming under stress, but maybe I could’ve tried harder—,”

“No—,”, Steve interrupts

“Will you let me finish?” you say sharply. Steve snaps his mouth shut and nods for you to go on. You stroke his cheek fondly. “Baby, I love you too. And that’ll never change. I care about you, and all I want is for you to be happy. And if you think you’ll be happier with this other girl, then I’ll—I’ll let you go,”. It’s hard for you to get the words out, but you manage to do it in the end. You try to inject as much sincerity into your voice as possible.

Steve frowns at you in confusion. “I could never be happier with another girl—,” he says.

“Well, if you say you love her, then clearly you  _can_  be happier—,”.

“No, you don’t understand, I—,”, Steve cuts himself off with a self-depreciating, mirthless laugh. “Who ever said it was a girl?”

“What!” you cry, sitting up in bed and looking at him in astonishment. It’s dark, but you know him well enough to guess that his face is a bright crimson hue, right now. “Steve—I—you’re gay? Why didn’t you—,”.

“Bisexual, actually,”, he corrects you.

You gape at him, utterly shocked. Taking your silence as your disapproval, Steve starts to shift uncomfortably. “Look, Y/N, if that’s too weird for you—,”

“No! No, it’s not,” you say, reaching out blindly for his hand. When you grab hold of it, you bring it to your mouth and brush your lips over the knuckles. Your next words must be chosen with care, because he’s so fragile right now, in desperate need of validation. “Stevie, I’m so happy you’re telling me this. I know how hard it must be for you. I support you, no matter who you choose to love, because you’re  _Steve_ , one of the nicest, kindest, most humble people on this earth,”.

“Aw, sweetheart, c’mere,” Steve mumbles, tugging you back into his arms and placing a sweet kiss on your lips. “You’re the best,”.

“I know,” you quip. “Now. This revelation begs the question: who  _is_  this mysterious man?”

An eternity of silence passes, Steve tensing up beside you as he steels himself to give you a name. “Bucky,”, he says quietly.

“Bucky?” you echo in disbelief. “Steve, have you always…?”

“Yeah,”, he croaks. Steve clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair, turning to look at the ceiling as he talks to you. “Y/N, I’ve loved him ever since I was fourteen. I loved him before I even knew what love was. When I…came out of the ice, I thought I’d be able to forget about him with time. And then I met you, and I did, for a while, but now…” he trails off, lost in the pain of his own thoughts.

“What changed?” you ask gently.

Steve huffs out a breath. “He remembers more, now. He’s not the same Bucky I grew up with, but he’s more Bucky than he was when we first got him back. And…that’s messing with me,”.

“Oh, Stevie,” you murmur, snuggling a little closer to him. You’re surprised by how  _calm_  you are in the face of all this information. Steve has essentially just professed his love for his childhood best friend, which in turn leads you to conclude that some significant changes are on the horizon for the two of you. Truth be told, your subconscious had been expecting this talk for the longest time — well, not  _this_  talk specifically, but some version of it, at least. You knew that it was an inevitability, rather than a possibility. You’ll never know what exactly Steve and Bucky were before the universe cruelly tore them apart, but you know that whatever it was, it had to be something special. If Steve’s carried his love for Bucky in his heart all this time.

And special things deserve to be celebrated. They’re a rarity, after all.

You run your fingers through Steve’s hair, brushing the soft, slightly damp strands off his face. When you speak, your voice is barely louder than a whisper. “If he means that much to you Stevie, I’ll not stop you. I know you love him, and I’m not going to keep you away from that,”.

“You’re not mad?” Steve asks hesitantly.

“Mad?” you echo, “Why would I be mad?”

“I just told you that I’m in love with someone else!” he points out.

“Steve,”, you chuckle, “You’ve got a big heart. It’s bigger than your goddamn brain—,”.

“That’s probably true—,” he mutters darkly.

“—and even though you love Bucky, that doesn’t mean that you love me any less. I’m glad you told me this. Now we can work things out together,”. You hold your hand up to your mouth to stifle a yawn, sleep suddenly tightening its hold on you. “Not now, though,” you mumble, “I’m tired,”.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, wrapping his arms around you and tucking you against his body, “Let’s sleep,”.

“G’night baby. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll work this out,”, you slur, eyelids already beginning to droop shut.

“Okay. I love you,”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning rolls around, bringing with it a civilised separation.

When you wake up the next morning, you stretch out on the bed, one arm feeling around blindly for Steve.Much to your discontent, you discover that he’s already gone. His side of the bed is still warm, however, the Steve-shaped indent in the mattress evidence that he hasn’t been up for that long. If you strain your ears, you can just make out the clatter of pots and pans being moved about and, when you sniff the air, you get a whiff of something mouth-wateringly sweet. With some considerable effort, you manage to force your ass out from under the covers, and pad into the kitchen.

Steve is cooking something on the stove, humming listlessly under his breath. You lean against the kitchen wall as you take in the sight of Steve fussing about, a gentle smile on your face. His back is to you, so he doesn’t immediately acknowledge your presence, but you’ve no doubt that he’s heard you come in, what with his super hearing and all. Steve’s blonde hair glows in the pale morning right, ruffled from sleep with small tufts sticking out in random places. He’s still clothed in the sweats he wore to bed, but has added a navy blue hoodie to the ensemble — the one that you like to steal for yourself, sometimes. Steve turns around, then, bearing a plate stacked high with pancakes in each hand. His pile, you note, is slightly larger than yours.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” Steve says, smiling easily at you as he sets the plates down on the table. “Made you breakfast,”.

“You didn’t have to,” you say, coming around the island to give him a chaste kiss on the lips, “But thank you, anyway,”.

The two of you eat in a companionable silence, a stark contrast to the sombre atmosphere hanging around you the day before. Despite Steve’s profound confession last night, there’s no awkwardness lingering around. You’ve always known that the bond between him and Bucky was something greater than just brotherly love.

“D’you think he’s your soulmate?” you ask suddenly, stuffing a piece of syrup-drenched pancake into your mouth.

Steve raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Soulmates don’t really exist, Y/N, that’s just an old wives’ tale,” he replies.

“Yes they do!” you protest indignantly, “My grandparents were soulmates,”.

“Really, now?” he asks, cocking his head to the side in interest. The lopsided grin tugging at his mouth tells you that he’s not buying your argument, so you huff frustratedly at him.

“Yes,  _Steven,”_ you drawl, crossing your arms over your chest petulantly, “They really were soulmates and therefore, proof that soulmates  _do_  exist!”. Though not exactly  _rare,_ soulmate pairs are uncommon in this world; not everyone is fortunate enough to have one. And, with a global population of over seven billion, attempting to find your soulmate is like trying to look for a straw-coloured needle in a gigantic haystack. Your grandparents’ story was a miracle — they were one of the lucky few people to find their other halves. The love they had for each other was pure, unparalleled to anything you’d seen on this earth.

“Okay, okay, I believe you!” Steve laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “I mean, I don’t necessarily  _believe_ in soulmate-lore, but I believe what you’re telling me,”.

“Thank you,”, you say stiffly, viciously stabbing a piece of pancake with your fork for emphasis. “So. Do you? Think he’s your soulmate? Even if you don’t believe it?”.

Steve shakes his head in amusement at your persistence, before taking another enormous bite. He chews thoughtfully for a moment before answering your question. “I don’t think he’s my soulmate, no,” he says finally. “I—don’t know what it  _feels_  like to have a soulmate, but I just…I love him, Y/N, with all my heart, but…it’s not life-changing, or anything like that. I feel happier and different around him, but it’s not…yeah. No. Don’t think we’re soulmates,” he finishes, shrugging indifferently.

You nod slowly, mulling over what Steve’s just said. It’s endearing, really, how tongue-tied and flustered he gets talking about Bucky like this — seeing the ever-composed Cap at a loss for words is a once-in-a-blue-moon kind of event. You don’t know that much about Bucky, to be honest. Since coming out of cryo and moving to the compound, he’s mostly kept to his own, only coming out of his shell for Steve. Bucky still doesn’t trust himself around people; he is, for all intents and purposes, a recluse. Sure, you’ve heard plenty of stories from Steve, but the ex-assassin remains largely a mystery to you.

You’ve hung out with Bucky a handful of times, during Avengers social gatherings and on missions, of course. Mostly, you avoid being with him for prolonged periods of time because you hate the way you act around him. You get so flustered, and a strange feeling develops in your chest — like someone’s shoved their hand through your sternum and is trying to yank your heart out. You feel simultaneously elated and apprehensive when your with him. It’s confusing and ridiculous, really, how your body can’t seem to get ahold of itself. 

Though you may have your own misgivings on how Bucky makes you feel, you’re willing to put them aside for Steve’s sake. If just  _talking_ about Bucky makes Steve feel giddy, joyous and uplifted, you can only imagine what properly spending time with Bucky will do to Steve’s mood. If he believes that a life with Bucky will give him fulfilment and happiness, then you want to do your best to give that to him.

“I want to help,” you say to him.

Steve pauses with his mouthful of pancake half-chewed, gaping at you in confusion. “Help…what?” he asks, the words coming out warped because of the food in his mouth.

“Get you and Bucky together,” you reply smoothly.

His eyes widen in astonishment, but he forces himself to swallow before speaking again. “Oh, honey, I couldn’t ask you to—,”.

“You’re  _not_  asking,” you point out, “I’m offering. In fact, I’m not even offering. I  _will_  help get you and Bucky together,”.

Steve snorts at your insistence. “Do I even get a say in this matter?”

“Nope,” you reply, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

“Great,” Steve mutters, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance. You wave your fork at him threateningly.

“Face it, Steve. You need my help. I’ve got  _way_  more dating experience than you have,”.

Steve nods in agreement, conceding the logic in your argument. “Very true,” he murmurs. He’s silent for a minute, staring pensively at his near-empty plate and chewing at his bottom lip. “It’s just—I don’t wanna force him, Y/N,” he says quietly.

“D’you think he loves you?” you ask, as you prop your elbows on the table and rest your chin on your upturned hands.

“Maybe, I’m not sure,” Steve admits, looking up to meet your eyes. “But I gotta let him make his own decisions, Y/N. I can show him that I’m here and that I want this, but I can’t — and I refuse to —  _make_ him choose me,”.

“Very noble of you,” you mutter, “Then again, you’re Captain America—,”.

“And you expect nothin' less?” Steve says dryly.

“Exactly,”.

Steve throws his head back and laughs heartily. “God, you’re a wonder,” he chuckles, “I dunno how I’d keep dating you—,”.

“Wait, what?” you cut in, levelling him with a look of utter puzzlement. “We’d still be together?”

He blinks at you, corners of his mouth frowning in confusion. “Uh…yeah?”

“But Steve,” you say slowly, wanting to choose your next words with caution in case he hasn’t figured this out yet, “Bucky’d never want to be with you if we’re still together,”.

“Oh. Right,”, he says dumbly. If Steve’s expression is anything to go by, it’s clear that this thought hasn’t crossed his mind. Before he can work himself into a panic, you swiftly intervene.

“I mean, we can still be friends—,”

“Yeah, of course!”

“Just not, y’know…a  _couple,_ ”

“Yeah. I see what you mean,”, Steve murmurs, face still pinched, but understanding and acceptance blooming in his eyes.

“So…I guess this is us breaking up with each other?” you say hesitantly, twirling your fork in your hand.

“…I guess?” Steve replies. Your eyes flick up to look at his face and you nearly burst out laughing — g _od_ , why does he look so lost? You roll your eyes at his cluelessness, shaking your head fondly.

“Is this the first time you’ve broken up with someone?” you ask, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms over your chest.

Steve straightens up, immediately going all defensive on you. “Well—yeah, I mean—,”.

“No, Steve, I’m not mad, I’m just—,”, a sudden bout of nervous giggles cuts you off. “I just—this is not how my break-ups usually go. This is so… _civil_ ,”.

“Oh, I—,”.

“No!” you cry, holding your hands out to placate him, “No, Steve, it’s not a bad thing, it’s…it’s good. It’s different. It’s not what I’m used to,” you explain.

Steve runs his fingers through his hair, making it messier than it already is. “Yeah well, we’re not really breaking up, are we?” he points out, “Break-ups are for when people are gone from each other’s lives forever. And that’s not happening with us. I’m still gonna be around—if you want me, that is,” Steve adds hastily.

You snort. “More like  _you’re_ gonna want me around. How’m I supposed to give you advice if we ain’t together?”

He laughs, nodding his head in agreement. “You got a point there. Well, we always  _were_ better off when we were just friends,” Steve says, looking to you for confirmation.

You give him a brief smile. “Agreed. But the sex was fucking amazing, though. Thank  _heavens_  for super-soldier refractory periods,”.

Steve throws his hands over his ears and turns away, a grimace on his face. “Honey! You can’t  _say_ things like that!” he protests, standing up and taking his plate to the sink, before coming to collect yours. You’re caught in a fit of laughter at his reaction, and eventually, Steve manages to laugh along with you. 

“Hey, if we’re not gonna be together, I guess it makes sense for one of us to move out, right?” Steve asks, looking over his shoulders as he washes dishes in the sink.

You stand up, grabbing the cutlery and glasses from the table and carrying them to him. “Good point, I’ll—,”.

“I’ll move out,” Steve says, talking over you.

You arch an eyebrow haughtily, daring him to cross you. “ _I_ will, Steve,”, you growl quietly.

“Y/N, I can’t ask you to—,”.

“You’re not asking!” you cry, angrily snatching a dishtowel to wipe the plates dry as he passes them to you. “Steve, I  _want_ to move out,” you tell him, before taking a deep breath to calm yourself down. “There’re too many memories here. It’d be too painful to stay,”, you murmur, keeping your eyes downcast because you can’t bear to meet his gaze right now.

Steve is silent, thinking over the significance of your words. This little apartment of yours has been the location for many an enjoyable evening. For you to stay here, without him…that’s just an exquisite form of torture you’re unwilling to put yourself through.

“Why don’t we both move out?” Steve suggests softly, drying his hands as he turns towards you. “Move back into the main wing with the others? Then it’ll be clear that you and I separated on amiable terms,”.

“I like that,” you reply, putting the cleaned crockery away. “I’ll start moving things back into my old room later, maybe,”.

Without warning, Steve steps into your space, wraps you in his arms and smashes your face into his muscled chest, burying his nose in your hair. You let out an  _oof_ in surprise. “Thank you, Y/N,” he whispers fiercely, “You have no idea how much this means to me,”.

“It’s okay, Stevie,” you murmur, twisting your arms from where they are trapped underneath him so that you can return the hug. “I just want you to be happy,”. A moment of silence passes, the two of you simply revelling in the serene intimacy of your embrace. Quietly, you ask, “Can I call this Operation Soulmate?”

“He’s not my soulmate, Y/N!” Steve cries exasperatedly, releasing you from his bear-hug and throwing his hands up in air.

“You want my help, you let me call it Operation Soulmate,” you say flatly, putting your hands on your hips and levelling him with stern glare.

“Fine,” he grumbles sulkily, turning his back to you as he heads to the bedroom, “Operation Soulmate it is,”.

“Yay!” you squeal, clapping your hands gleefully and dancing on the spot, “This is going to be so much fun!”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you and Steve try to woo Bucky over, without being too obvious about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being completely serious: appreciate the fluff in this one. Things get pretty angsty from here on out.

Over the rest of the week, you and Steve move out of the mini-apartment you’d been living in for the last year and a half, back into the main sleeping quarters of the compound. It’s weird being back in your old room after so long, but you’re glad to have your own space again. The layout of your new —  _technically_  old — room is essentially a smaller version of the place you shared with Steve, with its own kitchenette and living room partitioned from the bedroom and ensuite by a wall.

Of course, the move has raised several eyebrows within the team, and nearly everyone is confused as to why exactly you and Steve decided to separate. Without going into too much detail, the two of you assured everyone that your split happened on friendly terms,and that your emotional baggage would not hinder your performance on missions.

Your evenings are spent brainstorming ideas for Operation Soulmate with Steve. He is insistent that anything he does with, or for Bucky has to be as non-invasive as possible, because Steve is unwilling to make Bucky feel forced or uncomfortable. In turn, this means that you need to come up with ideas that strike the perfect balance between ‘friendly’ and ‘intimate’; you don’t want Steve to come off as overbearing, but at the same time, you don’t want Bucky to mistake his actions as simple gestures of kindness.

It’s a job easier said than done.

What you  _wish_ would happen is for Steve to just  _talk_ all this out with Bucky. But, the man adamantly refuses to do anything of the sort. Steve will not have a conversation of that nature with his best-friend-turned-crush until he’s certain that Bucky is romantically interested in him.You disapprove of his tactic, but Steve will not be talked out of it, and once the Cap’s got his mind and heart set on something, there’s no dissuading him. The only thing you  _can_  do is support him to the best of your abilities.

Today is the first ‘date’ he’s going on with Bucky. Of course, to Bucky, this is just a relaxed outing between two friends. Steve is currently freaking out over this fact, pacing anxiously back and forth across your room. You’re watching him from the bed, an amused smile on your features.

“What if he hates it, Y/N?” Steve asks tensely.

“Then we know not to take him to a zoo again,” you reply. Steve is taking Bucky to the Bronx zoo. You’d suggested the place because you had a feeling that Bucky might enjoy looking at all the animals, since the man is actually a real softie at heart.

“Can you come with us, babe?” Steve begs, coming to sit beside you on the bed and taking your hand in his. “I’d feel so much better if you were there,”.

“Steve,” you say gently, “It’s not really a date if I come along, is it now?”

“Guess not,” he mutters resignedly.

“Besides, I don’t really wanna third-wheel around you guys,”, you add, giving him a smile of encouragement. “You’re gonna be  _fine_  Stevie, just be yourself and it’ll all go well. It’s just Bucky, after all,”.

“Right. It’s just Bucky,” Steve echoes, nodding resolutely. “Okay, well, I should probably go get him. See ya later, Y/N,”.

You lean forward and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Good luck!”

——————————————

The two are gone for most of the day.

To stop yourself from worrying over Steve, you spend your time training with Wanda and Natasha. The three of you have developed a close-knit friendship in the time that you’ve known each other. Natasha was the person to rescue you from that god-forsaken lair you were imprisoned in, retrieving you as part of a SHIELD mission. During your rehabilitation period, she’d given you basic training in hand-to-hand combat, and slowly—once she realised that your histories held many parallels — began to let you past her walls.

When Wanda came along, it took no effort for you and Nat to extend your friendship to her, and the three of you have been near inseparable ever since. You and Wanda have lately been working on dual-pronged attacks, trying to complement each other’s powers by using them in tandem for double the force. This is your focus for the day, with Nat overseeing the session.

After several long, gruelling hours in the compound gardens, you head into your room for a well-deserved soak in the bathtub. You lean your head against the lip of the tub and let your eyes slide shut, savouring the warmth of the water, allowing it to soothe your aching muscles. Your bedroom door creaks open, snapping you out of your peaceful state.

“Y/N? You in here?” Steve calls.

“In the bathtub!” you reply.

“Can I come in?” Steve asks, poking his head around the door shyly.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen anyway, Stevie,”, you scoff.

He smiles brightly and sidles into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Steve leans against the sink and stares at the floor, brows furrowed in thought. From the expression on his face, it’s unclear whether he is in a good mood or a bad one, so you are immediately on edge.

“So…how did phase one of Operation Soulmate go?” you ask tentatively.

Steve hums noncommittally. “Well…it was…a mixed success,” he says haltingly.

“Uh-oh,” you murmur, sitting up straighter because this sounds serious. “What happened?”

“Well, he loved the animals. Like,  _really_  loved them. We didn’t get to see many things like that when we were kids, so I think he really enjoyed himself,”, Steve explains, eyes growing distant as he recalls the memory with fondness.

“But?” you prompt.

“Crowds. Guess goin’ on a Saturday wasn’t the best of ideas,” Steve sighs, hanging his head forlornly.

“Aw, Stevie, it’s okay, c’mere,” you say, motioning with your hand for him to come closer. He perches precariously on the edge of the tub and you take his big hand in both of yours, rubbing your thumb in gentle circles on the back of it. “No one said this was gonna easy, Stevie,” you tell him. “Sure, this didn’t go out as perfectly as you’d hoped, but it’s only step one. This is no marathon. You just gotta keep trying. It’ll get better,” you assure him.

Steve’s lips curve into a smile, expression softening and tension seeping out of his body at your words. “Thanks, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do without you,”.

“Neither do I,” you remark sarcastically. You flap your hand at him to shoo him out. “Now. Leave me in peace. I want to embrace my inner hippo and soak here for at least the next thirty minutes,”.

——————————————

“Terminator?” you suggest, making a note of the movie on your ever-growing list. You and Steve feel that, after the  _small_  disaster that was phase one, phase two of Operation Soulmate should be a relatively safe movie night. The only difficult thing about the whole ordeal is choosing a film to watch that Bucky and Steve can talk about after. The two of you have been at it for almost twenty minutes now, sat across from each other at his dining table.

Steve snorts at your suggestion. “Isn’t that about a guy who’s part robot? No thanks, too risky,”.

“Fine,” you grumble, scratching it off the list. “What about a Disney film?”

“What are we, eight? Something…intellectual, Y/N, please,”.

“Nothin’ wrong with Disney,” you mutter darkly. You close your eyes and press your fingers to your temples, working through the list of movies you know in your head.

Inspiration strikes.

“Ooh! I’ve got it! Star Wars, Steve, Star Wars!” you cry, leaping out of your chair in excitement. “You said he used to be a science geek, right? Star Wars is  _perfect_  for him, I promise. He’ll absolutely  _love_ it, Steve, and plus, there’s quite a few of them to sit through, it’s  _perfect_ ,”.

Steve considers your suggestion, nodding slowly as he thinks. “It  _is_ on my ‘need to watch’ list,” he muses. “And Bucky  _does_  like sci-fi. Or did, at least,”, he amends.

“So it’s a yes?” you squeal.

“It’s a yes,” Steve says firmly, flashing you a winning smile.

——————————————

Star Wars turns out to be a resounding success.

You’re helping Steve bake cookies for him to take to his movie ‘date’ with Bucky tonight. Your kitchenette is a mess, flour and various other substances coating nearly every surface, because the two of you had a mini food-fight halfway through. Steve’s got milk stains on the front of his t-shirt, and you’re pretty sure that there’s flour in your hair.

“Mix these in, please,” you say, handing him a bowl of chocolate chips. Steve — the cheekily little shit — steals a couple before dumping the rest into your gigantic mixing bowl and stirring the batter around with a wooden spoon.

“So, what next?” you ask, inspecting the mixture from over his shoulder as you grab the greased baking tray from on top of the burner. “After Star Wars, what’re you gonna do?”

“Well, isn’t that new Star Wars movie coming out next week? The Last Jedi?”

“Oh yeah, forgot about that,” you murmur, coming to his side and setting the tray down on the counter. With a playful smile on your face, you elbow him in the ribs, “Takin’ him to the movies, eh? Look who’s coming up with the date ideas now?”

“Oh hush you,” Steve mumbles, a bit of pink starting to bloom over his cheekbones in embarrassment.

“Okay, okay,” you giggle, handing him a spoon so that both of you can start spooning mounds of batter onto the tray. “But seriously, Steve, what’s phase three?”.

“I dunno,” Steve admits, shrugging his right shoulder. “Kinda hoping you could help me out with that,”.

You make a little thinking noise, brows knitting together as you turn over a few ideas in your mind. “I think you don’t need to do something  _big_  with Bucky. Quite the opposite, actually,”.

“Do small things with Bucky?” Steve asks, a note of confusion in his tone.

“Yeah, like spending more time with him doing everyday things,”, you explain, scooping out a spoonful of cookie batter and plopping it onto the tray. “Maybe you could invite him on your morning run?”

“Buck’s not a morning person,” is his immediate response. You watch as Steve drops the last dollop of cookie mixture onto the tray, then proceeds to lick the batter off his spoon like a little kid.

“Okay…then what about sparring with him?” you suggest, taking the filled tray and carrying it over to the oven. Steve dashes over to hold the oven door open, enabling you to slide the tray in. “I mean, you and Bucky are of equal strengths, right? I’m sure he’d like to…no?”. Your voice trails off when you see Steve grimacing at the idea.

“Bucky doesn’t…he’s still not real comfortable training  _with_ people. Thinks he could hurt them,”, he mumbles.

You give yourself a mental slap to the forehead for not thinking about that. “Oh. Right. Well, how ‘bout some other sport? There’s lots of non-contact ones. I’m sure Tony’s  _dying_ to build a tennis court for the compound,”.

Steve chuckles, cocking his head to the side as he considers your suggestion. “Yeah. Maybe that could work,”.

“Well, whatever you choose to do,” you say as you lean back against the counter, being careful not to get too much flour on your clothes, “I just think that you need to find something special for the two of you,”.

“Special?” he echoes, confusion written all over his features.

“Y’know, find a  _thing_ that’s yours. A Steve and Bucky tradition,” you explain. “You know how me and Wanda and Nat have our spa day routine? Well, something like that, but for the two of you,”.

“Something that’s just ours,” Steve says slowly, face deep in thought as he wracks his brain for ideas.

“Precisely,” you say, pushing off from the counter and picking up a couple of rags. “You don’t have to think ‘bout it now, big guy,” you assure him, patting him on the shoulder, “In fact, I suggest you don’t, ‘cause we’ve got this whole mess to clean up,”.

“Yes, okay,  _ma_ ,” Steve huffs, a smirk tugging on his lips.

——————————————

You’re curled up on your bed, deeply engrossed in the book you’re reading when Steve comes bursting into your room, startling you. He practically runs to the bed and flops dramatically onto it. You laugh softly at his antics, setting your book aside and turning to look at him. “Good night?” you ask, absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair.

“I think we could really be getting somewhere, Y/N,” Steve says dreamily, twisting his face towards you to flash you a dopey smile.

Watching Steve pine after Bucky like a lost puppy is honestly one of the most heart-warning things you’ve ever laid your eyes on. You give him a reassuring smile in return. “That’s great, Steve,” you reply, “I’m really happy for you,”.

Steve catches your hand and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. “I really appreciate what you’re doing for me,” he murmurs, “Operation Soulmate wouldn’t be as successful as it is without you,”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Natasha gives you some news that throws a spanner in the works, putting you in a rather difficult position.

Steve had ended up crashing in your room the night before, because the two of you had stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, researching and planning out more things for him to do with Bucky. When you wake up, you discover that Steve’s already left. A glance at the alarm clock on your bedside table tells you that it’s 7.08am, which in turn leads you to conclude that he’s probably out on a morning run with Sam.

With a groan, you roll yourself out of bed, slide your feet into your Captain America slippers (courtesy of Nat last Christmas) and shuffle out of your room, intending to head to the shared kitchen to make yourself some coffee, because your own kitchenette is out of supplies.

When you open your bedroom, you’re surprised to see Natasha stepping out of her room. She normally doesn’t wake up until around eight, unless someone hauls her ass out of bed.

Wait—that’s not Nat’s room. Her room is on the other end of the corridor.

That’s  _Bucky’s_ room.

Your still-groggy brain finally registers her outfit, realising that she’s dressed in nothing but Bucky’s red henley, the garment draping loosely over her petite frame. She would look innocent and possibly even  _cute_ , if it weren’t for the positively murderous look on her face.

“Morning, Y/N,” Natasha says coolly.

“N-nat? Wha—what are you…?” your voice trails off in confusion, your sleep-fogged mind struggling to make sense of the situation.

Nat swiftly crosses the hallway and shoves you back into your room, slamming the door shut behind her. “It seems like we need to have a little talk, honey,” she purrs ominously, pushing you to sit on your couch.

“Nat—I’m so confused,” you breathe, looking blankly at her.

“Barnes and I—we’re together,”, she states simply, hands on her hips and expression utterly neutral.

A sickening feeling settles in your gut, and it takes all your focus to force your own expression to remain stoic. Your heart is pounding rapidly, threatening to hammer its way out of your ribcage as your mind races — how is Steve going to deal with this? Oh god, you’re going to have to break it to him, how can you do that?

“I’d really appreciate it if you kept it under wraps, Y/N,” Natasha says softly, finally dropping her defensive stance and coming to sit beside you. She takes your hands in hers and levels you with a pleading gaze, “James and I…neither of us are ready to tell the team, yet. You’re the only person who knows, and I’d like to keep it that way, if that’s okay?”.

Well.

This puts you in an awkward position.

How can you say no to your best friend? Especially when it’s clear that this means a lot to her?

As much as it pains you to say it, you force your mouth to shape the words, “Yes, of course,”, nodding your head stiffly along with the statement.

“Swear it,” Nat growls, narrowing her eyes at you threateningly.

You swallow, nervous under the intensity of her piercing gaze. “I swear that I won’t make a peep about you and Bucky. I don’t wanna get on your bad side, Nat,”, you say hastily.

“Good,” she says, smiling devilishly at you. “Smart move,”.

“And Bucky doesn’t know that I know?” you ask.

Natasha shakes her head. “Nope. So you’re gonna have to act like you don’t know anything about us. Don’t tell him, by the way — it might freak him out,”.

“Gotcha,” you murmur, chewing your bottom lip as you ponder over Nat’s confession.You fiddle with the hem of your sleep shirt, purposely keeping your eyes downcast so that Nat can’t see your expression. You’re sure that it’d be a dead giveaway for the million and one thoughts rocketing through your mind. Nat’s relationship with Bucky will certainly dampen Steve’s chances at life-long happiness, but there’s nothing you can do about that.

Except.

Could you tell Nat about Steve’s feelings?

 _No!_  protests the voice inside your head. You groan internally; in your heart of hearts, you know that telling Nat his secret would be the ultimate betrayal of Steve’s trust.

Natasha’s voice draws you out of your thoughts. “Y/N?” she says.

“Hmm?”

“I just asked you if you’re okay,” Nat replies. You can feel her eyes roaming over you, trying to read your body language and get a feel for what’s going on inside your head.

You know that if you don’t say something soon, she’ll think that something is up, so you make yourself to swallow around the lump in your throat and speak. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just shocked, is all,”, you tell her, voice coming out hoarse and raspy. “H-how long have you guys been together?”

“A few weeks,” she responds smoothly.

“You…love him?” you ask, hesitantly looking at her through your lashes.

Natasha smiles, her features going uncharacteristically soft. When she next speaks, there’s a hint of tenderness in her voice that causes a twinge of pain in your heart, as if someone is driving a shard of glass through it. “I care for him, Y/N,” Nat murmurs, “I really do. He’s a nice guy. We’re…happy together, I guess you could say,”.

“I’d like you to be happy,” you mumble.

“Thank you,” Nat says, sincerity dripping in her tone. “But that means you and Steve are gonna have to stop,”.

“Stop what?” you echo, heart leaping to your throat as you whip your head up to look at her. You do your best to plaster a perplexed look on your face, but Nat is a master spy, and it’s clear that she’s not falling for it in the slightest.

“Look, Y/N, I can tell that you and Steve are up to something with Barnes,” Natasha says.

“We’re not—,” you cut yourself off when Natasha smirks knowingly and arches an eyebrow, as if tempting you to spin a lie. You sigh resignedly; there’s no way you can bluff your way around this one.

“Okay, fine,” you grumble.

“Can you just…lay off, for a bit?” she asks, “I actually really like Barnes, Y/N, and I’d appreciate it if you kept Steve out of our business for a while,”.

It would be so easy for you to tell her about Steve’s feelings towards Bucky; the words are right  _there,_  balancing on the tip of your tongue. But, though your heart is telling you to do otherwise, you keep your lips sealed. Besides, it’s not your secret to give away — Steve has repeatedly told you that he is unwilling to discuss his feelings about Bucky with anyone  _apart from_ you, and you have to respect his wishes by staying true to your word.

 _But!_ says the voice in your head — though you promised that you wouldn’t say anything, surely, this is an extreme circumstance? Surely, if you decide to tell Natasha the truth now, Steve’d find a way to forgive you?

It’s not a risk you’re willing to take.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll see what I can do,” you say meekly, giving her your best attempt at a smile.

“Thanks Y/N, you’re the best!” Nat chirps, squeezing your hand in thanks as she gets off the couch and bounds out of your room. The door clicks shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts at last.

 _What the fuck am I supposed to do?_  you think.

Your mind is split into two. On the one hand, you want to help Steve find happiness with Bucky; that’s the whole reason why you broke up with him, in the first place. Operation Soulmate has somewhat consumed your lives in the last couple of weeks — it’d be a shame for all that effort to go to waste. But, on the other hand, you’re also fiercely loyal to Natasha, as she is one of your closest friends. Your position on the team is all thanks to her.

You’ve really been dealt the short end of the stick here, trapped between a rock and a hard place. You can’t tell Natasha about Steve’s feelings for Bucky, nor can you tell Steve about Bucky and Nat’s relationship, because you’ve been sworn into secrecy by both parties. More importantly, you don’t know  _how_  to break the news to either of them without severely damaging ties within the team, thereby jeopardising everyone’s safety on missions.

 _Steve will be devastated when he finds out,_ you think. You know that it’s a matter of ‘when’, not ‘if’, because at some point, Natasha and Bucky are going to announce their relationship to the rest of the team. You can’t really warn Steve ahead of time, nor can you prepare him for the inevitable disappointment that will follow without outright revealing Bucky’s relationship with Nat in the process, thereby breaking your promise to her. And, since you don’t want to end up in Natasha’s bad books, that option immediately goes out the window.

Oh, how you wish that life could be simpler.

For the rest of the day, you hide yourself away in Tony’s lab so as to avoid any kind of confrontation with Steve, or Natasha, or even Bucky. You’re helping Tony work on a new suit for you to wear. It’s something he’s been meaning to make for a long time. Your current suit is great, but it covers up too much of your skin, rendering you less sensitive to the atmosphere around you. The more skin-contact you have with the air, the better your wind-manipulation powers work. You and Tony spend the day testing and tweaking various materials to use in your suit, trying to figure out the right balance between skin exposure and vital organ protection.Tony’s incessant science-chatter is  _exactly_ the distraction you need after today’s revolutionary discovery.

But, you can’t hole yourself up in here with him forever, so once your stomach starts growling insistently around dinner time, you force yourself to leave the relative safety of his lab and retreat to your room. You fix yourself a simple dinner of soup and bread, your mind too pre-occupied to prepare something anymore elaborate.

You’re pulled out of your self-pitying state of mind when Steve comes sauntering into your room, a small grin on his face. “Hey, babe,” he says, ruffling your hair fondly, “Missed you today. Where’ve you been?”

“Helping Tony out with my new suit,” you reply, trying to force a smile onto your face so that Steve doesn’t suspect that anything is wrong. If luck is on your side (which it probably isn’t), he won’t notice that anything is amiss and your evening can pass by without incident.

“Yeah? How’s that going?” Steve asks, going over to your fruit basket and plucking out an apple, which he bites into immediately.

You shrug indifferently. “Good, I guess. Tony’s trying to make all these new materials. I’m not sure I understand him, half the time,”, you reply, chuckling dryly.

Steve laughs. “Yep. That sounds like Tony,”. He takes another bite out of the apple and leans casually against the counter, a smile starting to creep across his lips. “So, I was thinking about new things for me to do with Bucky—,”.

Your stomach flips unsettlingly at the name, knowing that you’ll probably have to spend the whole evening lying through the skin of your teeth. As  _if_  the day hasn’t been emotionally draining enough. You stare at Steve, watching his face light up and his hands gesture animatedly as he outlines whatever plan he’s come up with — you find yourself tuning his voice out, because you can’t bear the thought of having to disobey Natasha’s instructions to you.

 _I’d appreciate it if you kept Steve out of our business for a while_ , echoes hollowly inside your skull.

“Hey, are you okay?” Steve asks anxiously, pulling you out of your reverie. Perhaps your expression let on more than you wanted it to. Steve slides into the seat across the table. “You seem off tonight. Something the matter?”

You hesitate. It would be so  _easy_  to tell him what’s on your mind. You’re reluctant to string him along with the false hope that he has a chance at a fairytale happily-ever-after with Bucky, knowing that ultimately, you’ll only be delaying the inevitable. The longer he goes on believing that he and Bucky will be together one day, the harder he’s going to fall when reality sets in.

“Y/N?” Steve says softly, reaching out to touch your wrist, “Talk to me. What’s going on?”. As you look into his eyes, you can’t help but recall how bright they were just seconds ago, as he was talking about Bucky. He’s so  _happy_ , so excited by the thought of spending the rest of his life with his teenage love.

You can’t take that happiness away from him — it’s quite possibly the only thing that gets him through each day. Without hope, Steve will probably crumble into a shrivelled-up version of his old self.

He doesn’t deserve that.

“Just a little tired, I guess,” you murmur, using all your energy to contort your face into a smile that looks semi-genuine. Steve’s brows are still drawn together, concern etched in his features. You twist your hand around so that it’s palm up and use your thumb to rub the back of his hand soothingly. “ _Really_ Steve, I’m okay. Now, tell me again, what is this new plan of yours?”

A lopsided grin tugs at his mouth as he launches into an outline of his plan. Steve’s excitement is contagious, and soon enough, you find yourself smiling along with him, adding suggestions to his plan of taking Bucky on a picnic in Central Park.

If lying to him is what it takes to make him happy, then that’s what you’re going to do. Operation Soulmate might never come to fruition, but if you can buy yourself some time, maybe,  _just maybe_ , you can come up with a solution to satisfy everyone involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to your sister’s house leads to an astonishing discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t come up with any other name for the stone that I liked, but the name I chose is NOT a reference to the Infinity Stone of the same name (you’ll get what this means when you read the chapter).

It’s been three days since your run in with Natasha. So far, you’ve been successful at keeping Steve out of Bucky’s business, though it pains you to have to lie to him. You’ve claimed that he needs to switch things up for a bit and play hard to get.

“I just think that maybe we’re trying too hard, Stevie,” you’d told him, as you lay sprawled out on your couch with your feet in his lap. “Maybe we should back off for a while, see if he comes to you,”.

“But what if he doesn’t?” Steve asked, idly tracing patterns on your calf with his fingers. “What if he doesn’t get the message?”.

“Well, we won’t know until we try, Steve,” you pointed out. “Just give it a week, see what happens. If he doesn’t do anything, well—then we’ll go back to what we were doing before,”.

“If that’s what you think is best,”, he sighed, shrugging nonchalantly.

Since then, you’ve been avoiding Steve and Natasha like the plague, busying yourself in Tony’s lab whenever you can, and training with Wanda in the compound gardens when you can’t. You’re aware that this is only a temporary solution — sooner or later, you’re going to have to face the music — but or now, any chance to avoid lying to Steve’s face is a chance that you’ll take without a moment of hesitation.

When your sister, Mia, calls you to say that she’s found some of your things stashed away in her spare room, you very nearly weep with relief. It’s the distraction you’ve been praying for.

“Can you come by anytime soon to collect it?” Mia asks, “It’s just—baby number three is coming in a few months, and Neil and I want to turn this room—Jason, will you  _stop,_ give that to mummy, please? Oh, hang on a minute, Y/N—,”. Mia sets her phone down and for a while, all you can hear is her muffled voice as she tries to reason with your oldest nephew.

A minute later, she picks the phone up and huffs out a breath of air. “Right, hi, Y/N, what was I saying?” she asks breathlessly. “Oh, right, yes, spare room. Your things. We want to convert it into the nursery, so—,”.

“You need me to move my things out,” you finish, nodding in understanding.

“Please. Can you?”

“Of course! I’m free today, actually. I’ll leave now,” you tell her, already walking around your room in search of your keys.

“Really?” she gushes, “Oh, Y/N, that’s wonderful! Thank you so much!”. The squawk of an indignant baby sings through the line. “Oh, that’s Maisie, look, hun, I’ve gotta go, just let yourself in when you get here, ‘kay?”

“Sure thing, Mia. See ya,”

“Bye!”

After locating your keys and purse, you change into a pair of distressed jeans and a simple black t-shirt with a hoodie thrown on top. You haven’t seen your sister or her children for over a month, so this visit is well overdue. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect — you’ve been itching for an excuse to get out of the compound, away from all the drama surrounding Steve, Nat and Bucky. You plan on staying at your sister’s house for as long as she’ll let you.

——————————

You’ve borrow one of Tony’s cars — a sleek black BMW — to drive to your sister’s place.It’s just under forty minutes away from the compound, in a quaint little suburb, where all the houses are decked out with pristine white picket fences and neatly-trimmed lawns.

When you let yourself into Mia’s house, you are greeted by excited squeals, as three-year-old Jason comes thundering down the hallway, hands outstretched to grab you. “Auntie Y/N!” he shrieks, giving you a big toothy grin as he wraps his arms around your legs and jumps up and down excitedly.

“Hey sweetie,” you giggle, crouching down to give him a hug. Mia rounds the corner just then, baby Maisie hoisted on her waist.

“Y/N!” she greets, “Thanks for coming,”. She stretches her arm out to the side and you stand up to give her a brief hug.

“Hello Maisie,” you coo, running your fingers through her soft curls. She gurgles happily at you, waving the biscuit she’s clutching in her fist around.

“How’s the pregnancy going?” you ask, running your hand gently over Mia’s barely-rounded belly.

Mia groans. “I’m so  _tired_ all the time,” she admits, “But besides that, it’s okay. Not too nauseous this time ‘round,”. She begins to sway her body back and forth as Maisie starts snuffling and rubbing her eyes. “Okay, I’ve gotta put these two down for a nap, but I’ll come join you after, okay?”

“Sure thing,” you agree, turning to head up the stairs, Jason trailing along after you. “Where exactly is my stuff?”

“Oh, there’re a couple of boxes stashed in the corner of the room,” she replies, “You can’t miss them, they’ve got your name on,”.

“Okay, thanks,”.

——————————

The boxes are enormous.

You lug the first one into the centre of the room and use your key to slice open the tape holding it shut. Inside are some trinkets that used to decorate your bedroom; a poster of your favourite band, some pictures of you and your friends, the funky elephant ornament that someone had given you as a birthday present and so many other items that bring back a whole host of memories.

Your family had spent months searching for you all those years ago, when you were kidnapped by an eccentric science-cult. After a year with no leads, the investigation came to a grinding halt and you were presumed dead. Grief-stricken, your parents had sold off or donated most of your things, only saving a handful of your most treasured items in these boxes. 

You set about splitting the items into piles. Some things — like the little scrapbook you made with your friends when you were fifteen — are definitely worth keeping. They’re coming back with you to the compound, if you can find something to carry them in. Other things — like your baby clothes and your first pair of shoes — would probably be more appreciated elsewhere.

Mia pads into the room when you’re nearing the end of the first box, perching herself on the stool beside the dressing table, one hand resting protectively over her belly.

“You doin’ okay?” Mia asks softly.

“Yeah. It’s kinda weird looking through my old stuff,” you admit, “I don’t remember much about…that life. It seems so distant,”.

She nods sympathetically. “Yeah, I can understand why,” she murmurs.

You sort through the last few items in quick succession, then turn to the other box, slicing the tape open in much the same way you did with the first. The first item you pull out is a small, blue, velvet box. Inside is a [stunning ring](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/384565255671515768/); white gold, with clusters of diamonds surrounding an enormous aquamarine gem in the centre. It’s not yours, that’s for sure.

“This was Nana’s, wasn’t it?” you ask, turning the box around so that Mia can see the jewellery inside it. A wistful smile crosses her face when she catches sight of the ring.

“Yeah,” she answers, “She wanted you to have it,”.

“Oh,” you breathe, running your thumb over the smooth band. Your maternal grandmother had died of cancer whilst you were in captivity. The two of you had been pretty close, so you were distraught when discovered that you hadn’t been able to properly say goodbye to her. She was a charismatic woman, but what fascinated you most about her was the soulmate bond she had with your grandfather — it had seemed so strange and mystical to you. This ring is a trinket you’ll treasure forever.

“Pull it out, I wanna see what is look like on,” Mia urges. You acquiesce her request, sliding the delicate band onto your right ring finger. To your astonishment, the gem in the centre begins to change into a brighter shade of blue upon contact with your skin.

“Mia!” you cry, thrusting your hand into her face, “Wha—what’s going on?”.

She is as stunned as you are, mouth gaping open and eyes as wide as saucers. Thinking that perhaps it’s just a trick of the light, you slide the ring off, twisting and turning in the sunlight spilling through the window. You are unable to recreate that same bright blue glow, but it comes back when you slip the ring back onto your finger. You stare at Mia in shock, using your eyes to silently plead with her to explain what’s going on.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, after a tense moment of silence. Mia runs her fingers through her hair and breathes out slowly, trying to collect her thoughts. She swallows, then looks at you with a level gaze. “You know that Nana and Papa were soulmates, right?” she asks. At your nod, she continues. “Well, that ring you’re holding is a Soul Ring. The gem in the centre is a Soul Stone,”.

“A Soul Stone,” you repeat, staring at the ring on your finger in disbelief. “I thought they didn’t exist anymore!”

“They’re a rarity,” Mia corrects you, “Hard to find, but there’re still some floating around. Most of the ones on the market nowadays are just pimped up mood rings,”. She jerks her chin towards the ring, “But Nana’s is genuine, passed down as a family heirloom,”.

Soul Stones, much like soulmates themselves, are one of the few remaining mysteries in the modern world — the only real evidence that magic exists. Or, well,  _existed_. Though the origins of Soul Stones are largely unknown, researchers have concluded that they are imbued with some type of ancient, long-forgotten magic. These Stones — and the Rings fashioned from them — are the only way for a person to definitively know if they have a soulmate or not. The gem’s colour will change as the wearer of the ring nears their soulmate; you’ve seen this phenomenon happening with your own eyes. The memory is foggy, but you seem to recall this very same ring on your grandmother’s finger changing from its usual blue to a paler green whenever she was around your grandfather. You’d never heard of a stone  _glowing_ before, though.

“What does it mean when it glows, Mia?” you ask hesitantly, hating how your voice comes out like a timid four-year-old’s.

Mia draws her bottom lip between her teeth and tilts her head to the side before answering. “Well, if I’m not mistaken,” she says slowly, “I think it means that you have soulmate,”.

“What?” you gasp.

She smiles brightly. “The universe has granted you a wonderful gift, Y/N. You’ve got a soulmate. He or she is out there, you just gotta find them,”.

“Tell me more,” you beg, scooting closer until you’re practically sitting on her feet. “Please, Mia, you’ve always known more about this than I did.  _Tell me_ ,”. Mia is eight years older than you, meaning that she’s spent more time with your grandmother, and has had more of a chance to learn about soulmate-lore through firsthand account. Beyond that, you know that Mia’s read heavily around the subject, as it was a key part of her university dissertation. If there’s anyone who can explain this to you, it’s Mia.

“Okay, okay,” she laughs, ruffling your hair affectionately. “Calm down, will you? You’re just as bad as Jason, I swear,”.

“Sorry,” you mumble, smiling at her sheepishly.

Mia takes a deep breath and starts to idly comb her fingers through your hair. “Well, the first thing you need to know is that there’s still a lot of confusion surrounding soulmate-lore,” she begins. “There are so many conflicting schools of thought, because no one really knows how all of this works. I’m just going to give you some of the generally accepted principles, but if you want to know more, I can lend you a couple of books, deal?”

“Deal,” you reply, looking up at her expectantly.

“Good. Okay, let’s start with how soulmate pairs work,” Mia says. As she speaks, she seems to sit up a little straighter, like she’s steeling herself to deliver a well-prepared speech. “A soulmate pair is described as a pair of people — of the same sex or not — whose auras are compatible with each other. What’s an aura, you ask?”

“I didn’t,” you mutter.

“I’m going to pretend you did, and I’m going to answer by saying that your aura is the…energy that your body emits, okay? That’s the simplest way to think of it,” Mia explains.

“Soulmates are two people whose energies mesh with each other. Got it,” you confirm, nodding your head resolutely.

“Right. Now, the universe, somehow, magically knows when two auras are compatible with each other, and it will endeavour to set up events to bring the two of you together—,”.

“Like fate?”

A pinched look comes over her face. “‘’Guess you could call it that. But ‘fate’ makes it sound like an inevitability, and soulmate pairs don’t  _always_  end up together. But we’ll get to that in a minute,” she says. Mia pauses for a minute, absentmindedly twisting together strands of your hair as she ponders her next words.

“So, that’s what soulmates are. Now, how do the Soul Stones come in? Well, the Stone is able to sense the aura of the wearer—,”

“Through magical means?” you interrupt.

“Yes, via magical means, and it can sense whether or not the aura of the wearer is, for want of a better word, incomplete,”.

“Incomplete?” you echo softly.

Mia nods. “Meaning, not with your other half, or away from your mate. Soulmates, as they are part of a pair, will have incomplete auras. And, as a way to notify you of this incompleteness, the Stone will begin to glow, or change hue whenever it is worn,”.

You frown, brows drawing together in disapproval. “‘Incomplete auras’ doesn’t sound like a good thing,” you mutter.

She huffs impatiently. “Okay, well,  _incomplete_  is perhaps the wrong word to describe it. It’s more like…unfulfilled, I guess. Not living up to your highest potential. Which is not a bad thing, it’s just…undesirable,”.

“So…it’s okay to have an incomplete aura?” you ask, still slightly mystified by all this soulmate-lore.

“Yes!” Mia says firmly, “There’s nothing  _wrong_ with you if your aura is incomplete. You’ll just….” her voice trails off and her hands gesture wildly as she searches for the right word. “You’ll just feel this restlessness inside you, I suppose,”, she says finally.

“Right. Okay,” you murmur under your breath. Then, raising your voice so that Mia can hear you, you ask anxiously, “So, what about this changing colour business. I’m not wrong, right? They do change colour?”

Mia nods, “Yes, yes they do. And how it works, again, no one knows for certain, but the general idea goes something like this: the Stone senses the aura of the wearer. And, as you draw nearer to your soulmate, you aura is changing—,”.

“Becoming more complete?” you interject.

“Exactly. And because the Stone can sense this whole-ness in your aura, it will change colour. The more whole your aura becomes — in other words, the closer you get to your mate — the brighter the colour will be,”.

You hum thoughtfully, twisting the ring on your finger as you turn over her words in your head. “Is there any other way of knowing that you have a mate?” you question.

“Nothing definitive,” Mia replies. She chuckles dryly, “From what I’ve read, it largely depends on the pair. Some people have described it as a tugging in their heart or gut. Other have found that they have an inexplicable pull to a particular place. I’ve heard of people feeling those stereotypical ‘sparks’ when their skin touches. A lot of people experience less obvious things, like an accelerated pulse, or giddiness, or breaking out in cold sweat,”. Mia laughs mirthlessly, “In fact, there have been cases where people say they don’t feel anything at all!”

“Gee, that’s real helpful,” you drawl, rolling your eyes sarcastically.

“I know right?” Mia snorts. “The point is, there’s no way to know for sure if you’ve found your mate, unless you’ve got a genuine Stone on you,”.

“You said mates don’t always find each other…?”

“I did,”. Mia shakes her head sadly, “The universe, like I said, tries to bring a soulmate pair together, and it does so by pulling your auras towards each other,”. Her hands start moving animatedly, to emphasise her point. “But certain things can alter the aura of a person, making the… _pull_  of the auras, or their attraction to each other less strong. In these cases, soulmates find it harder to meet their pair,”.

“What kind of things?” you ask curiously.

“Medication, mental illnesses,” she pauses, eyes narrowing as she thinks. “If your mate is in love with someone else, that could also be a dampener,”.

“That sucks,” you grumble, scrunching your nose in discontent.

“It does suck,” Mia agrees. “And, I should point out, that because of the sheer  _number_ of people on this planet, the, I guess, ‘signal’ of your soulmate’s aura is lost amongst a lot of static, which just makes it  _that_  much harder to find them,”, she adds.

“I see,” you hum, chewing your lip thoughtfully. A moment of silence passes between the two of you, as you let your mind absorb all this new information.

“So really, despite the fact that you are meant for each other, the odds of you finding your mate are pretty slim, Y/N,” Mia sighs, stroking your check tenderly.

“It’d be nice to have a mate, though,” you murmur dreamily, thinking back to how happy your grandparents were. They were so attuned to each others needs. As a couple, they weren’t necessarily more in love, or happier than your parents or other couples you knew, but you could always sense this underlying contentedness in their relationship, that seemed to be lacking in others.

Mia’s sharp gaze snaps towards you when she hears your words. “Don’t get obsessed about this, Y/N,” she warns, her dark tone drawing you back to the present. “People have gone mad, or worse,  _died,_ because they’ve gone on elaborate quests trying to find their soulmate. You don’t  _need_ to find your soulmate in order to live a happy life, okay?”. Without warning, she leans down and slings her arms around your shoulders, pulling you in for a crushing hug. “I’ve already lost you once,” she whispers fiercely, “I can’t go through that again,”.

“I know,” you breathe, leaning into her touch and wrapping your arms around her as best as you can. “I won’t. I promise I won’t,”.

The room is silent for a while as Mia holds you in her arms, burying her nose in the crook of your neck. She’s breathing deeply, as if trying to compose herself. You just close your eyes and rest your cheek against her head, letting her embrace you for as long as she needs to. Finally, Mia releases you, discreetly brushing the back of her hand over her eyes as she sits up. “Sorry,” she mumbles, laughing weakly. “Okay. I’ll let you finish up in here, yeah? Will you stay for dinner? The kids’ll love that,”.

“Of course!” you reply, a broad grin spreading over your face, “I’d love to stay,”.

“Great,” says Mia, returning your smile. With a great groan, she heaves her herself off the stool and heads over to the door. “Come down whenever you’re done. I’ve got laundry to fold!”

“Okay!” you call, turning back towards the second box.

Left alone to your thoughts, you mull over the ring now on your finger. Where the stone had previously been a lovely azure blue whilst the ring was in the box, it has now morphed into a brighter cerulean colour, indicating that somewhere in the world, your soulmate awaits you. You can’t help but wonder who they might be, what they might look like, whether or not  _they_ know that they have a soulmate.

Could they possibly be someone you know?

That question pushes you into another line of thinking.

You wonder if you should ask Steve to wear the ring. Though he doesn’t believe in the notion of soulmates, it can’t hurt to see if he does have one. And, even if the ring does glow, that’s not definitive enough evidence in support of your hypothesis that  _Bucky_ is his soulmate. You could try to convince him to wear the ring around Bucky, perhaps, to see if it changes colour. If your hunch turns out to be correct, and Bucky is, in fact, his soulmate, then maybe that’s all you’ll need, to help bring Steve the happiness he deserves.

Though of course, that still leaves you with the uncomfortable situation of dealing with Natasha.

It’s possible, though, that once Nat realises what Bucky is to Steve, she’ll be willing to let them be together, and Operation Soulmate — ha! How fitting the name proved out to be — will have its happy ending, after all.

You have to remind yourself that all of this is hypothetical, and that the end result is riding on a long string of ‘what ifs?’, but you can’t help but feel a little bit optimistic, nonetheless.

The door creaks open just then, and a sleepy-eyed Jason comes padding in, clutching his stuffed monkey close to his chest. “Auntie Y/N?” he mumbles, ambling over to your side. When he sees the piles of your stuff spread around you, his face immediately perks up, eyes coming alight with interest. “Wha’s dat?” he asks, pointing towards the ring on your finger.

“It’s a ring, Jason,” you reply, petting his hair fondly.

“Shiny,” he coos, poking it with one stubby digit.

You laugh. “Yes. Shiny. You wanna help me look through my things?”

“Yeah!” he cries, plopping himself on the floor beside you and clapping his hands eagerly

You shove thoughts about soulmates and complicated love triangles into the back of your head, telling yourself that there is plenty of time to worry about that later. For now, you have one wide-awake nephew to entertain and a whole box of memories to look through. It’s a distraction that you need to savour for as long as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life becomes a lot more complicated than it already was, if that were possible.

It’s late when you finally pull into the garage at the compound. You’d stayed for dinner at Mia’s house, caught up with your brother-in-law Neil, then helped both of them put the kids to bed. The mundaneness of their domestic life had been a welcome reprieve from the chaos and unpredictability at the compound, and you’d let yourself get swept away in their little bubble for a while. For those few blissful hours, you’d pretended that nothing was wrong in your life.

Now, you need to return to reality.

With a tired sigh, you get out of your car — which is technically Tony’s car — and head inside, hoping that at this late hour, no one’ll be awake. You’re not really in the mood to deal with anyone right now. You’d brought a lot of your things back from your sister’s house, but you leave them in the backseat of the car to deal with in the morning, as you’e too exhausted to even  _think_  about carrying them in. All you want is a nice hot shower, followed by a long, dreamless sleep.

You swing by the kitchen to grab a glass of water before you turn in for the night. When you get there, you find Bucky sitting at the counter, silently munching on a bowl of cereal. His shaggy black hair is pulled into a messy bun, and he’s clothed in a comfortable-looking burgundy sweater and some loose sweatpants.

“Hey, Y/N,” Bucky says quietly, flashing you a brief smile. “Had a good day?”

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, mentally cursing yourself for letting him affect you so strongly. Already, you can feel the quickening of your heartbeat in your chest, the slight clamminess in your palms, and an unsettling twist in your sternum. You turn your back to Bucky as you snag a glass from the cabinet, hoping that if you don’t look at him, your system will be able to calm itself down. What is  _wrong_  with your body? It’s just Bucky, and he’s only said six words to you so far, why can’t you get a hold of yourself?

Huffing frustratedly, you use your left hand to pour yourself some water from the jug, whilst the right one clutches the counter for support. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch something sparkle brightly. Frowning, you turn to look at your hand and almost drop the jug in shock.

The Soul Stone. It’s  _green_.

Holy crap. 

Holy shit.

Holy—

_Bucky is your soulmate_.

Your sister’s voice rings inside your head, her words suddenly having more a profound implication.

_“Some people have described it as a tugging in their heart…a lot of people experience less obvious things, like an accelerated pulse, or giddiness, or breaking out in cold sweat,”._

All of a sudden, the way your body acts when you’re around Bucky makes a whole lot more sense. He’s your  _soulmate —_  that’s why you feel giddy and nervous whenever he’s near, why your heart goes haywire and your hands go sweaty. That tugging sensation in your sternum? That’s your body trying to tell you that your soulmate is literally sitting two feet away from you!

Hundreds of thoughts flit through your head as you try to process this discovery. Millions of questions perch on the tip of your tongue, just begging to be asked. Should you tell him? It’d be so easy to turn around, shove the ring in his face and blurt out everything you know, consequences be damned. This is what your basal urges are pushing you to do, but a niggling voice in the back of your mind instructs you to bite your tongue. There are still dozens of other things to consider.

Oh god.

What about Steve? What about Natasha? The situation between them and Bucky is complicated enough as it is. Adding this factor into the mix would simply add an unnecessary layer of confusion.

Of course the universe just  _had_ to fuck things up further. It’s not like there’s enough people vying for Bucky’s attention already, right?

“Y/N?” Bucky asks, his gravelly voice snapping you out of your deep thoughts. You whip around to look at him, shoving the hand with the ring into the pocket of your hoodie so that he won’t see it. Bucky is looking at you with a concerned expression on his face. “You okay? You’re pretty quiet,”, he says.

“I’m fine,” you respond quickly. “I-I’m just tired, is all,” you squeak, flashing Bucky a wry smile.

“Huh,” he mutters, standing up to take his bowl to the sink.

“Um, I’ll just—be heading to bed now, g’night!”. And with that, you practically bolt out of the kitchen and sprint down the corridor, ignoring whatever perplexed look he might have had on his face.

When you get to your room, you slam the door shut and lean against it, panting heavily as your heart thunders inside your chest.

 _James Buchanan Barnes is your soulmate_.

Of all seven billion people in this world, it had to be  _him_?!

You’re not complaining, not exactly. You’re not complaining about the fact that you have a soulmate; soulmate pairs have one of the purest bonds on this earth, and it is a blessing for you to be granted one. For the universe to deem you worthy enough to experience this bond…that’s a privilege that very few are fortunate enough to have. Beyond that, not only do you  _have_  a soulmate, you’ve also found him, which, as your sister said earlier today, was a rather unlikely thing to happen.

The timing of it all is simply, rather unfortunate.

With a resigned sigh, you push yourself off the door and trudge to your bathroom, peeling off your clothes and dumping them into the laundry basket en route. You turn on the shower and step into the stream of warm water, turning your face into the spray as if hoping that it can wash away the uncertainty roiling inside your head. The steady thrum of water droplets hitting the tiled floor is the perfect soundtrack for your dissonant mind, so you close your eyes and let yourself think.

First, there is the issue of Steve.

He’s loved Bucky for so long, clinging desperately to the hope that one day, they be together as he’s always wanted. You have a feeling that this dream is one of the only things keeping his life together, pulling him through each day as the burden of being Captain America becomes increasingly oppressive. The image of Steve’s face — joyous and content — when the two of you were discussing ideas for Operation Soulmate pops into your head. It’s a memory that sends a stab of pain through your heart, as you can’t even begin to understand the agony he will be in when he discovers that Bucky is not his to have, both because of Natasha and because of you. It seems that the universe does not want those two to be together.

 _It’s probably for the best_ , you think wryly,  _they’d cause too much trouble, otherwise._

Can you really be the person to crush Steve’s dreams? Do you want that weighing on your conscience forever? Can you live with yourself, knowing that in order to obtain your open happiness, you sacrificed Steve’s only source of hope?

Your thoughts become even more sombre when you turn your attention to Bucky’s secret relationship with Natasha. You remember how her face had lit up when she talked about him, her voice going soft and gentle in a way you’d never heard it before. She’s your best friend. She deserves love and happiness and contentment too, after all the trials she was dragged through as a child. If she finds all that with Bucky, who are you to take that away from her?

You realise that water has started to develop a chill. A glance at your hands tells you that you’ve been standing in the shower for long enough that your fingers shrivelled up and turned prune-like. After shutting off the water, you grab your towel from off the rail, using it to pat yourself dry before wrapping it around your body. You pad over to your drawers to grab an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts to sleep in.

The glow of the gem on your finger catches your attention again. It’s back to its calming cerulean colour, now that you’ve put some distance between yourself and Bucky. You cross to your dressing table and slide open the top drawer, rifling through the small box of jewellery you keep in there. You pull out an old necklace of yours with a thin silver chain, perfect for the purpose you have in mind.

Carefully, you remove the crystal pendant that is currently dangling on the chain and replace it with your grandmother’s ring. Once it’s been secured, you drape the necklace over your head and tuck the ring under your shirt to hide it. You want to keep the ring with you — partly because it reminds you of your grandmother, and partly because you want to be reminded of Bucky — but don’t want to wear the ring on your finger, lest people start asking what is is, or why it starts turning green whenever Bucky is near.

That’s a conversation you don’t want to have anytime soon.

Once you’ve adjusted the chain to the correct length, you head to your bed, collapsing on top of it with a groan. In the darkness, your mind begins to think about Bucky. He’s the uniting force in all of this, the person who everyone seems to be fighting over, whether they are conscious of this or not.

Do you even want to be with him?

You don’t know if you love Bucky. When you were Steve’s girlfriend, you obviously  _cared_  for Bucky’s wellbeing, mostly because when Bucky had a good day, Steve was in a good mood. You wrack your brain, trying to analyse your feelings for this man. You’ve have limited interaction with him in the last couple of years, but on the rare moments where Bucky smiled at you —  _properly_  smiled at you, with his nose scrunched up and everything — you recall a slight flutter in your chest. You remember the first time he laughed at one of your jokes, and the way your heart had done a somersault in response.

At the time, you thought nothing of your body’s reaction, because you were with Steve. You simply pegged those responses as a sense of triumph, your reaction at being able to coax Bucky from out of his shell. Now, you’re beginning to wonder if you’ve been subconsciously in love with him all this time.

You wonder if Bucky feels the same whenever you’re near. Does his heart race? Does he get flustered too? He doesn’t show it, that’s for certain, but then again, you tend to be too focused on not making a fool of yourself to really take note of how he acts around you. You remember what Mia said about auras being altered by medication and the presence of other romantic relationships. You know that Bucky has been prescribed various drugs by his doctors to help cope with his depression and mood swings and, though you’re not  _entirely_  sure how he feels about Nat, he is most definitely in a relationship with her. You’re also willing to bet that extensive brainwashing has taken its toll on his energy. Maybe these factors have weakened his aura’s attraction towards you.

 _It’s probably be a good idea to talk to Mia about this_ , you muse.

But oh, how cruel the universe is. Just hours ago, you were thinking how nice it would be to know who your soulmate is. Now, that question has been answered with an ironic twist, the universe pairing you with the one person you can’t have. Bucky is your forbidden fruit.Being unable to love him, despite him being so tantalisingly close is a fact that will torment your every day.

Technically, there’s nothing stopping you two from being together.

You could tell Steve and Natasha the truth about you and Bucky. Surely, if they cared about you enough, they’d let you be with him. Even if Steve doesn’t believe in soulmates, you know that he will appreciate the rarity of this circumstance, and allow you to be together, if you should so wish. But that goes back to the question: are you willing to let your friends suffer, whilst you live out the rest of your life with the person you’re meant to be with?

Oh hell, you’re more confused than you’ve ever been. Can life get anymore complicated?

A gentle knock on your door breaks you out of your reverie. You lift your head up to see Steve come in, a small smile on his lips. “Hey,” he whispers, coming to lie down next to you on the bed. “FRIDAY told me that you went to see your sister today, how was that?”

“Good,” your murmur, somehow miraculously pulling your face into a smile, so as to disguise the emotional turmoil raging inside you.

“Can I talk to you, or is this a bad time?” Steve asks, lazily running his finger down your arm.

“You can always talk to me, Stevie,” you reply.

“Okay. So, I know you told me to lay off Bucky for a while, but guess what? He came to me today!” Steve says excitedly, grinning so hard you think that his cheeks might split.

“Really?” you ask, a more genuine smile creeping onto your features as Steve’s elatedness rubs off on you. Internally though, you’re wincing. Would Natasha wonder if you’d broken your word and helped Steve set up another outing with Bucky?

“Yeah! Can you believe it?” Steve asks, hand now gesturing enthusiastically, “He wanted to go to the Natural History Museum with — hey, are you okay?”

“Huh?” you say dumbly, eyes flicking up to meet his face. Steve rolls onto his side to look at you, concern causing lines to appear on his brow. Maybe your expression let on more than you wanted it to.

“Y/N?” he murmurs, tenderly stroking the back of his hand over your cheek, “You okay? You want me to go so you can sleep? We can talk in the morning,”.

It’d be so easy to say yes. But then, you remember how happy he looked telling you about Bucky, how his eyes had glimmered with warmth and his face had taken on a soft glow. Are you willing to forsake your own fairytale ending, in the hope that at least one of your friends can find theirs?

The answer comes with ease.

“Let’s talk, Steve. Tell me all about it,”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, I'm really excited for the next couple of chapters. They're going to be _intense_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Announcements are made, confrontations take place and you’re in a lot of pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise in advance — your hearts will be wrecked after this one. 
> 
> To clarify: this chapter consists of a series of ‘moments’ over the space of a month. I didn’t know how else to write these events. I think this is the most angsty chapter of them all.
> 
> Trigger warning: Descriptions of self-neglect and physical pain.

Steve has mostly given up on his efforts to woo Bucky.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, Y/N,” Steve groaned, as he lay on your bedroom floor with his head pillowed in your lap. “I mean—obviously I still  _want_ to hang out with him, it’s just…he keeps making up all these excuses,”.

“Like what?” you murmured, gently raking your fingers through his hair.

Steve huffed frustratedly. “Like—normally he just says he wants to be alone, or he’s tired, or…I don’t know, really. It’s like he’s avoiding me, or something,”.

You’d had to bite the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from blurting out the truth. “I’m sure he’s not avoiding you, Stevie,” you said gently, “Maybe…he’s just having a bad spell, y’know?”

Steve flicked his eyes up to look at you. “D’you think I scared him off?” he asked quietly.

You chewed your lip and averted your gaze. “I don’t know, Steve,” you replied, even though you knew  _exactly_ why Bucky had been coming up with excuses to avoid being around Steve. The lie made you feel sick to your stomach, but what could you do about it? You couldn’t say anything to him, because you’d been sworn into secrecy by your best friend, who also happens to be one of the world’s most ruthless spies. You sighed, “Maybe he just wants some space, for a while,”.

It’s now a few days after that exchange.

You’re heading to the kitchen to meet the rest of the gang. Brunch on Sunday is somewhat of a tradition in the compound; every week, everyone that’s present gets together and shares a meal, for some relaxed team-bonding time. It’s a great opportunity to de-stress, really. Today, Sam’s manning a huge pan of eggs by the stove, whilst Steve is in charge of feeding slices of bread into the toaster. Bruce looks like he’s trying not to fall asleep at the table, Tony and Wanda are busy fighting over the last sesame-seed bagel, and Natasha is fixing herself a cup of coffee.

You’re about to open your mouth and ask where Bucky is when you feel a body brush past you, cool metal grazing your hip. Your heart does an elated somersault at that half-second of contact, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling like a dopey idiot.

“Mornin’ everyone,” Bucky says quietly, voice still slightly husky. God, does your brain love that sound.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve says, flashing Bucky a smile over his shoulder. Bucky mostly ignores him though, going straight to Natasha’s side. He slings his flesh arm over her shoulder and presses a brief kiss to her temple. There’s no mistaking the tenderness behind the gesture.

A bewildered silence settles over the room, everyone shocked by the unexpected show of intimacy between the two. All eyes are trained on Bucky and Nat, but if either person is uncomfortable with the scrutiny, they don’t show it. In your peripheral vision, you catch a glimpse of Steve’s face; he looks like he’s desperately trying to maintain his composure, even though his heart has just shattered into a million pieces. His body is tense, hands clenched into tight fists, and his eyes have a bleakness in them, betraying the fact that he is just seconds away from crumbling.

“Um…Robocop? You getting friendly with Romanoff over there?” Tony asks.

“He’s allowed to Stark,” Natasha drawls, turning to face him as she takes a sip of her coffee. “We’re together,”, she says simply, draping her arm around Bucky’s waist for emphasis.

The room erupts into chaos, Sam, Bruce, Tony and Wanda immediately bombarding the pair with an endless barrage of questions. Your focus is on Steve, though, whose expression remains neutral, if a little strained around the edges. He’s fighting to keep a smile on his face, but you can tell that it’s taking all of his effort to do so, because it seems forced and doesn’t reach his eyes.

It’s the face of a man who has lost all hope.

Though a huge part of you wants to cross the room and give him a hug, you know that you can’t do that, because it will only draw attention to Steve’s condition. As various cries of “Congratulations!” fill the air, you feel a twinge of pain in your heart, and you’re not entirely sure whether that’s because your soulmate has just confirmed his relationship with a woman that’s not you, or whether it’s your own body sympathising with Steve.

Secretly though, you’re glad that you didn’t have to be the one to break the news to him — you don’t think you could have brought yourself to do it. Guilt gnaws at your conscience for even having that thought.

——————————

After brunch, you decide to head out to the back gardens to train by yourself, just to take your mind off today’s events. All the intensive sessions you’ve been doing with Wanda in the last few weeks have really paid off, and you are now able to control your powers with more precision than ever before. The two of you have lately been working on a move which she has called the ‘False Target’ (she loves coming up with names for all the manoeuvres you create). It involves her picking up a large object and throwing it in one direction, whilst you manipulate the wind to push the object in the direction you actually want it to go. You can see this tactic coming in handy in a number distraction-creating scenarios.

You spend the rest of your morning refining the amount of force you put into each blast of air. Your arms are outstretched, palms feeling for the spaces within the air as you repeatedly snap your hands forward, throwing scraps of metal left, right and centre.

Once you’re satisfied with your progress for the day, you head into the gym to get in some cardio. As luck would have it, just as you enter the compound’s gymnasium, Natasha is coming out of the showers, hot pink gym bag hoisted over one shoulder, a towel slung around her neck.

“Hey, Y/N,” she says, stopping in front of you, conveniently blocking your path. “Listen, I just wanted to thank you,”.

You frown in confusion. “For…what?” you ask hesitantly, letting the pitch of your voice rise on the second word.

Natasha chuckles. “For keeping your word. I must admit, at some points, I thought you’d caved and told Steve, but I’m glad that you’ve proved me wrong. You’re a great friend, Y/N,”.

A flush spreads over your cheeks, shame twisting in your gut as you remember all the times you’ve forced yourself to lie to Steve in the past couple of weeks to keep your promise to her. “S’nothing,” you mumble, keeping your eyes downcast so that Natasha doesn’t suspect anything to be amiss.

“Thanks for keeping Steve away from—,”

“Oh, but I didn’t—,”

“It’s been really helpful, for Barnes and I,” Nat continues, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “We’ve been able to spend a lot more time together, and it’s done wonders for our relationship,”.

“That’s—that’s great, Nat,” you say weakly.

“Well, I’m off. Wanda wants to go shopping,” she chirps, waving goodbye before walking out of the gym with a slight spring in her step.

Once alone, you lean heavily against the wall with your hands on your knees. You close your eyes and breathe deeply through your nose to quell the nausea rising in the back of your throat. On the bright side of things, at least the fact that Nat and Bucky are out means that you have one less secret to keep.

“What the fuck, Y/N?”

Startled, you whip your head up and are stunned to find a Steve standing directly in front of you. He is absolutely livid, arms are crossed in front of his chest, jaw set in a scowl and eyes blazing with rage.

“Steve, I—,”

“Don’t bother,” Steve snarls. You cower under the ferocity in his tone, your body physically trembling with dread.

You swallow nervously and force your suddenly too-dry mouth to speak. “Steve, please—,”

“How could you?!” he shouts accusingly, throwing his hands into the air, “You  _knew_ that they were together, yet didn’t tell me  _anything_  about it,”. The anguish in his tone is apparent, and you want nothing more than to wrap your arms around Steve and comfort him. You have a feeling that that gesture will not be well received.

With tears brimming in your eyes and your voice horribly shaky, you try once more. “Nat made me promise—,”

“Yeah, I heard,” Steve snaps, interrupting you so harshly that your teeth grind together when your jaw slams shut. “I heard everything you two said to each other. You may be a good friend to Nat, but you’re not one to me,” he spits viciously.

“ _Steve_ ,” you plead, a single tear escaping from your eye and rolling down your cheek. You’ve never seen him this angry before, and in all honesty, you’re terrified of him. A part of you realises that you deserve this, though. What else could you have expected? This morning Steve discovered that his long-time crush is in love with someone else, and now he’s found out that you — the one person he thought he could trust — has been feeding him a basket of lies.

“You led me on!” Steve cries, “You told me that I had a chance with Bucky. You told me we could be together. You  _lied—_ ,”. His voice cracks at the last word and he sharply turns his face away, not wanting to let you see his tears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t want to hurt you,”. You try to inject every ounce of sincerity in your body into those few words.

“Save it, Y/N, I don’t want to hear it right now,” Steve growls, pivoting abruptly on his heel and storming out the gym, slamming the door shut behind him.

Distraught, you sink to the floor and hug your knees to your chest, resting your forehead on top of them as sobs wrack through your body. You know that you need to chase after Steve, apologise, make him listen as you explain the situation to him, but he’s hurt — and so are you. Neither of you are in a state to have a conversation with each other right now.

You have to let him go.

——————————

“—Oh, and I found this really nice red dress at H&M,” Wanda says excitedly, as the two of you walk towards the common room to watch a movie together.

“Yeah? Red’s your colour, hun,” you giggle, playfully elbowing her in the ribs.

She snorts. “Practically my whole wardrobe consists of shades of red and black,”.

“There are shades of black?” you ask, voice conveying your amusement.

“Well, maybe not  _shades_ , but textures, definitely,”, Wanda replies, throwing her head back and laughing easily.

When you get to the common room, you see that Steve is already there, watching some action flick on the TV. You’re about to open your mouth and say something to him, but Steve’s already paused the movie and gotten off the couch, mumbling something about heading to his room as he brushes past you two. You watch him dash off with a heaviness in your heart, hating how your relationship with him has come to this.

“What’s up with Steve?” Wanda asks, frowning concernedly as she cranes her head around to watch him leave.

“No idea,” you lie.

——————————

“ _Please_  Nick, I swear, I’ll take anything you’ve got,” you beg, restlessly pacing back and forth across the small space in front of your window.

Fury sighs heavily, as if frustrated with you, but through the phone you can hear the faint rustle of papers being moved about. “Okay, look, I got a couple of my boys heading out to Serbia tomorrow, for three days. You wanna tag along?”

“ _Yes,_  please yes,” you reply, breathing an internal sigh of relief at the prospect of being able to escape the compound — and all the tension within it — for at least three days.

“Great,” he says crisply, “I’ll send the mission files over,”.

——————————

You’re sitting in the common room, focused on reading the mission briefing file that Fury’s just sent you when a gravelly voice breaks your concentration.

“Hey, Y/N, can I ask you a question?”

You look up from your Stark tablet and find that Bucky is standing in front of you, dressed in jeans and a simple white t-shirt, coffee mug in his flesh hand. God, he looks good.

“Sure,” you reply, trying to hide your grimace as a shooting pain spears through your heart. Ever since you discovered that Bucky is your soulmate, you’ve become more aware of your body’s reaction to being around him. What used to be a gentle tug in your sternum has recently become more acute — like a sharp stab, causing you momentary discomfort. As the pain begins to ebb, you sit up straighter and force a smile onto your features.

Bucky sinks into the chair opposite you and chews on his lip for a moment before speaking again. “So…do you know what’s up with Steve?”

Your heart leaps into your throat at the mention of his name, but you school your expression and body language to remain neutral. “What d’you mean, what’s up with Steve?” you ask, deciding that feigning ignorance is probably the best way out.

Bucky shrugs. “He seems…distant, lately. He hasn’t wanted to hang out with me as much and I just figured…maybe something’s up?”

“I wouldn’t know,” you reply coolly, “We haven’t been talking much. I’ve kinda been busy with missions,”.

“Oh, right, of course,” Bucky says, running his metal fingers through his hair. “Yeah, guess I shoulda realised that. Thanks anyway, Y/N,”.

“No problem,” you murmur. As Bucky stands up and walks away, you reach your hand up to finger the Soul Ring through your shirt. You wear it around your neck religiously, though though you’re not entirely sure why. You sigh tiredly, returning your gaze to your Stark tablet to continue preparing foryour trip to Rio tonight.

——————————

The persistent beeping of your alarm clock draws you out of your deep slumber. With a sleepy groan, you disentangle your arm from the blankets and turn it off, before heaving yourself out of bed. As you stand up, you feel a piercing pain in the back of your head, and for a moment, your vision is tinged red. You collapse onto your bed and hold your head in your hands, willing the blurriness in your eyesight to go away.

Matters are made worse by the presence of a nauseating feeling in your gut and periodically, a burning sensation blooms across your chest, making your breathing hitch. You massage your temples and force your lungs to take in deep and steady draws of air, hoping that your crippling pains will go away soon.

You assume that this sudden-onset headache is due to a combination of the stress from dealing with a furious Steve, and the exhaustion that comes with taking on too many missions back to back. You’re home for rarely more than 24 hours between trips, and most of that time is spent either sleeping, writing up mission reports, or preparing yourself for the next trip.

You’d told Fury that you wanted to gain more field experience, so he’s been sending you off on two-to-three day excursions with his team, travelling to every corner of the world. It’s not a complete lie —you  _do_ need to practice using your powers in the field, as training situations cannot fully convey the diversity of combat situations — but mostly, you’re just using it as an excuse to get away from Steve and Nat.

And Bucky as well, if you’re honest with yourself.

Thankfully, the ache inside your brain has dulled down somewhat, allowing you to get out of bed and head into the shower without so much as an unsteady step. Maybe you just need to take a break, you muse. Have a few days off work to recuperate, get your body up to full strength. Not now, thought. You’ve got a jet to Beijing to catch.

——————————

You’re finding that you have fewer and fewer reasons to come out of your room nowadays. As per your request, FRIDAY ensures that your kitchenette is well-stocked at all times, meaning that you can cook meals without having to go into the shared kitchen. You don’t need to go to the gym, because you’re getting a full workout on missions, anyway. Most of the time you have at home is spent replenishing your energy and doing mission-related paperwork.

This arrangement works fine with you, really. You have no desire to go into the common room or kitchen and socialise, not when getting out of bed everyday is itself a struggle. Some part of your body is always aching; sometimes, that ache is a result of an injury acquired during a mission, but most times, the discomfort arises from the constant throbbing in your head and chest. You really _should_ go to the med bay and have someone check you out, but that would mean having to stay in the compound for an extended period of time, and you’re unwilling to put yourself through that.

Turmoil is ever-present in your mind, and at times, your thoughts become so loud you can hardly breathe. The only time you can find peace within yourself is during missions, when the only thing that matters is the stated objective and the steps you need to take to achieve it. In the field, the incessant chatter in your skull fades out to white noise, allowing your mind to concentrate on the task at hand.

At home, the voices in your head become too loud in the desolate cage of your skull, magnifying the agony inside you tenfold. Your heart feels like a leaden weight in your chest, tightening uncomfortably whenever you let your guard down and thoughts of Bucky steal your focus.

You don’t really hang out with anyone when you’re at the compound, citing fatigue or work as your excuse. You know that Wanda is concerned for you, and even Sam has started to arch an eyebrow, but you’re unwilling to come clean to either of them. Steve is an absolute no-go — you haven’t exchanged more than a couple of words with him ever since that day in the gym — and even Nat is out of limits, simply because being with her reminds you of Bucky, and that’s just too painful a line of thought to go down.

You’ve come to realise that you  _do_ love him, at least a little.

You’re starting to notice him more, appreciating the little quirks in his personality. You love how he trudges into the shared kitchen every morning, hair rumpled from sleep and expression soft. On the rare occasion that he laughs, Bucky’s eyes glow brighter than the shiniest diamond, and it’s a sight that eases the pain in your heart. His voice is a beautiful melody to your ears; at times deep and husky, at other times bright, a trace of his old Brooklyn accent coming through. Your heart aches to know more about him, but you can’t bring yourself to spend time with Bucky, as that’ll just make you think of Steve and your failures as a friend.

Though the love you have for Bucky is not exactly a romantic kind of love — you don’t know him well enough for that — you’ve come to accept the fact that you care for him. You want what is best for him, and that in itself is a version of love, no? Through brief conversations with Wanda, Sam, and even on occasion, Tony, you’ve gotten insights into his wellbeing, and whenever someone tells you that Bucky’s doing good, your heart perks up. Love is wanting the best for your significant other, even if you personally can’t give it to them.

——————————

“What’s going on with you?” Wanda asks, voice sharp and suspicious.

“Huh?” you say distractedly, looking up from your tablet. Wanda had come into your room about an hour earlier, claiming that she wanted some company whilst she read her book. The two of you are sat side-by-side on your couch, your head against her shoulder as you carry out some research on a terrorist cell in Kazakhstan.

“Y/N, come  _on—_ you think I haven’t noticed you holing yourself in your room all the time?” she demands, “You’re going out on at least two missions every week, that can’t be healthy for you,”.

“I’m fine,” you grumble, sitting up properly so that you can look at her.

“No you’re not. You’re hurting, Y/N. Really badly,” Wanda says, eyes narrowing at you in suspicion.

“I—what?”

She touches her fingers to her temple, to illustrate her point. “I can sense it,” Wanda explains, “You’re grieving. At least, that’s what it feels like,”.

You huff out a breath indignantly and cross your arms over your chest. “Wanda, I’d rather not talk about it,” you say curtly, “I’m fine, I promise. I don’t need you to worry about me, okay?”

“Y/N, please—,”

“Wanda,” you say sharply, narrowing your eyes into a threatening glare, “Please, I don’t wanna talk about it,”.

Wanda clenches her fists, then extends her fingers, repeating the action a few times to calm herself down. “Just—promise me that you’ll take care of yourself? And come to me, if you ever want to talk?” she pleads.

“Yeah,”. You force your lips to curl into a smile, but the look in Wanda’s eyes tells you that she doesn’t buy it, not one bit. “Of course I’ll come talk to you,”.

——————————

“Target is leaving the building!”

You bring your wrist up to your mouth and speak into the comms wristlet as you dash over the roof of the building. “Alpha team in pursuit,” you pant. “Brava team cover the north exit, Charlie the south. Delta secure the building,”. Your earpiece crackles with activity as the various team leaders acknowledge your instruction.

“Copy that,”.

“Copy, Alpha leader,”.

“Copy, securing the building,”.

Satisfied, you pour all your energy into the sprint, using your arms to pump your body forward. You come to the edge of the building and don’t hesitate, leaping confidently off the edge. By holding your hands out in front of you, you’re to manipulate the air so that you can slow and cushion your fall. The new suit that Tony has made for you is working out great; he’s developed a bullet-proof mesh to use on the sleeves and gloves, which greatly increases your ability to ‘read’ the air around you.

Once on the ground, you race after the target, catching sight of him as he darts into a narrow alley. “Brava team, headed towards you,” you say breathlessly.

“Standing by,”.

You give chase, ignoring the slight burn in your lungs. You’re rapidly closing in, just metres behind him. If you can just get nearer, you can—

“ _Oh_!” you gasp, stumbling forward as a searing pain lances through your chest, nearly blinding you with its intensity. It’s as if someone has jammed a scorching hot poker rod through your torso, and is slowly twisting it deeper. You collapse to your knees as your vision swims, the buildings in front of you blurring in and out of focus. It’s a struggle to breathe, your rattling inhales sounding far too strained for your liking. Your pulse roars in your ears, blocking out nearly every other sound.

“Y/N!” someone calls, but their voice is distant, like they’re shouting through water. “Y/N, oh thank god,”.

The person —Whitlow, you realise — kneels in front of you, a concerned look on his face. “Y/N? Are you alright? What happened?”

“M’fine,” you wheeze, impatiently brushing his hand away as you struggle to your feet. Once upright, you sway unsteadily, nearly collapsing a second time. Acting fast, Whitlow puts one arm out to catch you, and places the other at the small of your back for support. “Target?” you croak, “What—,”

“Target has been apprehended and subdued,” Whitlow says brusquely, “Charlie team are going back to help secure the building. Y/N, you need medical—,”

“I’m fine,” you snap, shaking your head to clear the disorienting fogginess from your mind. “C’mon, let’s go talk to this guy,”.

“But—,”

“I said  _come on,_ Whitlow,” you growl, stalking ahead of him. Most of your concentration is taken up by you trying not to let him see you wobble with each step. Whatever happened back there was unexpected, but right now, interrogation of the target is your highest priority. Your health can wait until you get home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brush with death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, the angst is almost over, but before that happens, I just gotta hurt you one more time (in the literal sense)
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence and severe injuries. Talk of depression.

“Hey, are you…doing okay?” Sam asks.

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” you reply, voice coming out more terse than you’d like it to.

Sam makes a thoughtful humming noise. “You need to take it easy, y’know?”

“Don’t wanna talk about that right now,” you snap.

The two of you are on a mission in Cape Town, accompanying four of Fury’s boys. Your objective is to prevent a weapons deal from taking place. You and Sam are posted on the roof of the building opposite the warehouse where the trade is supposed to happen, keeping an eye on the roads and surrounding areas. Fury’s men are leading the mission, but the two of you are standing by, ready to intervene if things get messy.

“ _We’re_  not talkin’,” Sam drawls, “I’m just speaking to myself, and you just happen to be listening,”.

You snort, rolling your eyes in annoyance.

“Look, I’m just gonna say what I’ve been noticing lately, okay? You don’t have to say anything, just hear me out,”.

“Fine,” you grumble, shifting your stance so that you can look at Sam, whilst still keeping one eye trained on the warehouse.

“So here’s some things I’ve been noticing about you. You’ve been restless, constantly going off on missions—,”

“That’s not—,”

“Hey!” Sam protests. “I said just listen, alright? Restlessness, one. Number two,” he continues, ticking the numbers off his fingers, “You’ve been feeling persistently sad and empty. Got that one from Wanda. Three, you’ve been losing weight, Y/N. I can see it, so don’t you try and deny that one,”.

“Anything else?” you mutter.

Sam turns so that he’s looking at you dead-on. It’s dark, so you can’t really make out his features, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the sincerity in his expression is genuine. “You’re not doing the things you used to do anymore,” he says quietly, “When was the last time you read a book for pleasure, huh? Or watched a movie? Or went outside the compound with Nat and Wanda?”. Sam pauses, putting his hands on his hips and casting his eyes downwards. “You been experiencing migraines, lately?”

“Maybe,” you reply curtly, not wanting to admit to the fact that you wake up with one nearly everyday, or that the ache in your head only gets more persistent as the day wears on. In the past week, the pains have been getting more intense, manifesting as a relentless throbbing in the base of your skull that’s really messing with your ability to think logically and tactically during missions.

Sam hums, nodding thoughtfully and crossing his arms over his chest. Though he’s looking at the building across the road, he speaks to you. “You know what all this leads me to conclude?”

You get the feeling that it’s a rhetorical question, but you grunt out a sullen, “What?” nonetheless.

“That you’ve got some form of depression,”, he says seriously.

You bark out a harsh laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoff.

Sam shrugs. “Worked in the VA a long time, Y/N. I know what it looks like. You ever need to talk about it to somebody, I can set you up,”.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you say dryly.

He places his hand on your shoulder, and you have to resist the urge to shrug it off. “Don’t brush this off so lightly, Y/N. You need to look out for yourself, okay? I won’t bring this up again unless you ask me to,  _if_  you promise to take it easy with the missions, alright?”

“Sure thing,  _dad_ ,” you drawl, rolling your eyes sarcastically. Sam shakes his head, before turning his attention back to the warehouse, rolling his shoulders and dropping into a loose defensive stance. You’re grateful that he stays true to his word of dropping the subject.

——————————

“Seriously? Nothing at all?” you ask incredulously.

“Nothing,” Fury repeats firmly, “You and my boys seem to have taken care of the bad guys pretty good. I’ll let you know if something pops up, though,”.

“You do that,” you mutter.

The line goes dead.

With a resigned sigh, you toss your phone onto the bed and head into your bathroom to change into your workout gear, deciding that going to the gym to burn off some steam will probably do you good. The dearth of missions is suspicious. If you didn’t know better, you’d think that Sam and Wanda are conspiring against you, maybe talking to Fury behind your back and forbidding him from sending you out.

On your way to the gym, you pass by the common room, where you see Natasha cuddled up with Bucky as they watch something on the TV. He’s sprawled out on the couch, legs parted so that Nat can lie between them. Her cheek is pillowed on Bucky’s chest and his chin rests on top of her head. His metal arm is drawing gentle swirls up and down her back, and their lips move with murmured conversation.

It’s a heartbreakingly cute picture; mundane and domestic and unremarkable, but at the same time everything you could ever want to have with your partner.

The image sends an agonising flare of pain through your chest that is severe enough to make you gasp sharply and clutch the wall for support. Without warning, your vision turns hazy, and a nauseating feeling crawls its way up the back of your throat. Your muscles feel weak all of a sudden, and your knees feel like they’re going to give out on you at any minute.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks, craning his head around to look at you. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

You flap your hand at him weakly. “Fine,” you croak, “Just uh…stubbed my toe,”.

Bucky opens his mouth, about to say something else, but is interrupted by FRIDAY’s smooth voice coming through the overhead speakers. “Agent Romanoff, Sergeant Barnes, Agent Y/N, your presence is required in meeting room one immediately,”.

——————————

Sam, Tony, Wanda, Bruce and Steve are already sat around the oval conference table by the time the three of you arrive. Steve catches your eye as you come in, but quickly averts his gaze, snapping his attention to the screen.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asks, taking the seat beside Steve, Nat sitting on Bucky’s other side. You sink into the unoccupied chair beside Wanda — the farthest seat possible from Steve — and focus on keeping your breathing as steady as possible. Unlike the other times where your chest has flared with pain, the searing agony behind your sternum seems to be persisting this time, though thankfully, it’s not as intense as it was in the common room. Wanda, noticing your strained posture, gives you a suspicious side-eye, but makes no comment.

“Alright everyone, we’ve got a situation in Manhattan, Upper West Side,” Steve says brusquely. The screen on the wall comes to life, displaying news clips that depict robots storming the streets of the city as terrified civilians run amok. “Robots of unknown origin, no entry portal or mothership to speak of. They seem to be crawling out of the Hudson,”.

“What do they want?” Sam asks.

“Unclear,” Steve replies, shrugging apologetically. “For now, they seem to be ransacking buildings with no clear pattern as to  _what_  buildings they attack,”.

“So what’s the plan, Cap?” Natasha questions.

“Stark, your suits are waterproof, right?”

Tony snorts indignantly. “Are my suits waterproof? Who d’you think I am?”

A strained smile graces Steve’s lips. Trust Tony to provide some comic relief in an otherwise grim situation. “Alright, I want you going into the Hudson. Try to figure where they’re coming from and report back,”.

“Got it,” Tony says, nodding firmly.

Steve begins to make his way around the table, assigning each individual a role. “Bucky, sniper. Set yourself up on a building somewhere in the middle of all the action and fire away. Sam — air support. I need you to be my eyes in the sky. You see a cluster of robots, you send somebody there…”.

When he finally gets to you and Wanda, at the end of the line, he hesitates. You wait with baited breath, wondering if Steve is even going to  _let_  you go on this one. As your commanding officer, if Steve believes that the tension between you two could threaten the success of the mission, he has the power to keep you in the compound, or force you to stay on the quinjet. You don’t think that Steve’s petty enough to resort to those lengths, but it would indeed be the cruelest form of punishment — allowing you to help in battle, without taking part in the action.

In the end, your fears are unfounded. Steve turns to Wanda, speaking to her directly; you might as well not exist, what with the way he’s scorning you. “Wanda, I want you to take Y/N to cover the upper right quadrant. I know you two have been training together lately,”.

You wince at his coldness, unable to ignore the twinge of sorrow in your heart at his rejection. Or maybe, that’s your chest pain acting up again. At this point, you can’t tell the difference anymore.

“Sure thing, Steve,” Wanda replies smoothly, chancing a glance at you and quirking her eyebrows up as a form of apology. You shrug indifferently — if Steve can’t put aside his differences to address you personally, that’s his problem.

“I don’t think Y/N should go on this one,” Sam says abruptly. Enraged, you whirl on him, narrowing your eyes in fury.

“What? Why not?” you snap.

Steve is staring at Sam with an expression of curiosity on his face. Sam sighs, turning to look at the Cap. “I’ve read the mission reports from Fury’s team. There’s mention of her experiencing acute chest pains and faint spells whilst in pursuit, not to mention poor judgement calls in high-stress situations,”.

“You had no business reading them, Sam,” you hiss.

“Wait—is that what that was just now?” Bucky interjects, shifting his gaze to you. “Back in the common room, you looked like you had trouble breathing,”. Concern is written all over his features, which in turn causes waves of pain to radiate through your chest. You grit your teeth and clench your fists, schooling your face to remain neutral, so as to not betray the hurt you feel inside.

“I am  _fine_ ,” you growl menacingly. “You need as many people as you can get on this mission. Let me come with you,”.

Steve sighs impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes meet yours and your breath catches; this will be the first time that Steve’s said more than three words to you in a single sitting since that confrontation in the gym. “Y/N,” he says sternly, “Are you fit enough to go on this mission? I can’t have you jeopardising the safety of the rest of the team,”.

You nod firmly, not breaking eye contact with him. “I’m in perfect health, Cap. Let’s go,”. From the corner of your eye, you can see Sam shaking his head in disapproval, and by your side, you can feel Wanda’s raging stare practically drilling a hole through your skull.

“Alright,” Steve replies, tone holding a note of finality in it. He turns off the projector and gives one last cursory glance over the group. “Suit up everyone, wheels up in ten,”.

——————————

“Wanda, behind you!” you scream, as you fend of yet another bot with a canon-blast of air. You watch as Wanda whirls around, right fist beginning to glow red. She thrusts her hand forward, sending tendrils of scarlet curling around the torso of a robot launching itself towards her, using them to slam the bot into the street and severe its head.

“Thanks!” she calls, immediately turning her attention to another pair of bots creeping up on her right side.

Sam’s voice crackles through the comm unit in your ear. “Wanda, Y/N, you got a group of roughly twenty bots, two blocks east,” he says. Behind the shrill wail of sirens and the general racket of screaming civilians, you can make out the whoosh of his wings as he flies above you.

“Thanks, Sam,” you say, making your way over to Wanda, who has eliminated the robots with ease. They resemble gleaming silver skeletons, more than anything else. Their limbs are scrawny sticks, but the hands have in-built laser beams that pack a nasty punch. The only reinforced part of their body seems to be the torso; any bullets you land there simply ricochet off. You’ve discovered that the most effective way to dispose of them is to simply rip their head off, either using brute force, or via a strong gust of wind.

The battle does not seem to be ending anytime soon. As Steve mentioned during your briefing, the robots seem to have no goal besides wreaking havoc in Manhattan, smashing through windows and generally destroying the area. Though the team is trying to figure out what their objective is, thus far, no clues have cropped up.

Wanda and you start to jog east, heading towards the robot cluster that Sam detected.

“ _Fuck_ ,” you hiss, doubling over with your hands on your knees, as an agonising spear of pain shoots through your chest, stealing your breath with its intensity. You register Wanda rushing to your side and putting her hands on your shoulders. She’s talking to you, but you can’t make out what she’s saying, because the only thing you can focus on is the feeling of your heart trying to rip itself apart. You force yourself to take in deep lungfuls of air, hoping that the discomfort will go away soon.

“Y/N? Talk to me, what’s happening?” Wanda asks, her voice sounding warped and garbled in your head.

“Just a cramp,” you gasp out. You realise that you’re leaning heavily against her and in response, push her away, wanting to stand on your own. The jarring action only serves to make you dizzier.

“Hey, take it easy,” Wanda says gently, “You wanna go back to the quinjet?”

“Nah,” you say, shaking your head adamantly.

“Y/N, come on—,”.

“I ain’t gonna let you have all the fun out here,”, you say, trying to inject as much humour into your voice as you can. “Really, I’m fine now, I—,”.

“Wanda? Y/N? What’s going on?” says Steve in your ear.

“Y/N has just—,”.

“Everything’s fine, Steve,” you interrupt, “Wanda and I are going to tackle a group of robots that Sam’s spotted,”.

“Copy that,”.

Wanda shoots you an unamused glare, but you stalk ahead of her before she can say anything else. On the bright side of things, the searing ache in your chest has largely dissipated, replaced by an unrelenting throb. Mercifully, the discomfort is at least at a bearable level. In more depressing news, the constant ache prevents you from pouring all your concentration into the fight, therefore making you more vulnerable. Wanda keeps pace by your side, the two of you walking in silence at a brisk pace.  

When the group of robots loom on the horizon, you and Wanda duck behind an overturned bus to avoid being seen. You observe them for a while, noting how the bots standing in a loose huddle formation in the middle of the street, looking around as if awaiting orders.

“Hey, you wanna try out the False Target move we’ve been practicing?” you whisper. Though you’ve done the manoeuvre countless times during your training sessions, you and Wanda have yet to use it in a combat situation. Now seems like the perfect opportunity to test out its effectiveness.

Wanda cocks her head to the side and casts her eyes over the area, assessing the surroundings. “Looks like a good place to do it in. I think I can use that car over there,” she murmurs, gesturing towards the abandoned black sedan on her right.

“Great. You stay here and I’ll go around. Once I’m in position, you go for it, okay?”

“Got it,”.

You sneak out around the back of the bus, then sprint for the next vehicle along — a banged-up pickup truck. You stealthily creep around the huddle of robots by repeating this process; hiding yourself behind vehicles and blocks of concrete, then risking a run out in the open when you’re sure the bots aren’t looking. Slowly, you make your way to the other end of the road, approximately two hundred metres away from Wanda. You crouch behind an abandoned car, ready to leap up when Wanda sends the chosen projectile soaring through the sky.

The persistent throbbing in your chest has started to pick up. You send a mental prayer to any god that’s listening — this is  _not_ a good time for you to collapse.

“In position,” you breathe.

“Copy that. Sending it over now,” Wanda replies.

When you see a crimson glow in the distance, you straighten up, spreading your legs and bracing yourself for the inevitable kick-back that comes with blasting such a concentrated gust of air. Thankfully, the robots haven’t caught sight of you.

Without warning, an excruciating cramp explodes in your chest, making your lungs seize up and your knees buckle. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed too tight and your pulse roars in your ears, drowning out nearly every other sound.

In the distance, you can see Wanda lifting the sedan into the air, getting ready to throw it in your direction. The robots have started to chatter and squeal amongst themselves, but, by sheer stroke of luck, they haven’t scattered yet.  

Your movements have become sluggish. You’re commanding your hands to get into the position you need them to be in, yet it takes an eternity for your muscles to respond — it’s like your bodily circuits are malfunctioning, due to the pain spreading through you. You growl frustratedly, willing your arms to hold themselves steady, and your hands to feel for the spaces in the air. Your vision swims, making everything go hazy around the edges for a moment.

The car is sailing towards you now and  _this_ is the crucial moment. Timing is key, precision is everything. You push past the nausea in your throat, the pounding in your skull, the debilitating pain in your chest. Breathing deeply through your nose, you manage to still the tremble in your fingers, allowing you get a good grip on the air so that you can push.

 _Just get through this_ , you tell yourself,  _just get through this and then you can sit down, catch a break._

Another wave of agony courses through your body, making you totter unsteadily on your feet. You cry out in pain as the vice around your heart tightens even further, gripping the muscle so hard you think that it’s going to burst out of your chest. You can’t manage anything more than shallow, wheezing breaths now, and the lack of oxygen supply is not helping your brain  _at all_. The discomfort is torturous, stealing all of your concentration—

The car draws nearer.

You need to focus,  _dammit,_ so you grit your teeth and focus on the feel of the air against your palms, seeking out the joints within it. You lock onto an air pocket and steel yourself to deliver an almighty gust of wind.

Wanda’s voice rings loud in your comms uint, somehow managing to cut through the deafening cacophony in your brain. “Now, Y/N, now!”

You snap your palms forward, expecting to feel the air rippling around you as it billows outward.

Except…nothing happens.

You frown in confusion. There’s a piercing pain starting up in your temple, preventing you from thinking straight, so you just try again, more forcefully this time.

Still, nothing.

“What are you waiting for?” Wanda shouts.

The car gets even closer.

Your entire body is giving out on you, at this point. Your muscles are no longer responding because they’re crippled by pain, and the excruciating discomfort in your chest has kicked up a notch, setting every nerve ending in your body alight.

You thrust your palm forward again and want to scream in irritation, because  _nothing fucking happens_. Why won’t the air move, damn it? Why can’t you feel it properly? In desperation, you yank your right glove off — swallowing back the queasiness accompanying the sudden action — and try to search for the air pockets with your bare skin. You manage to locate one and push your hand against it, but the gust of wind you generate is barely more than a tickling breeze.

“Y/N,  _move_!”, Wanda screams, terror rife in her tone.

Ignoring her, you continue feeling for the joints and spaces in the air.  _There_. You find another air pocket, this one slightly larger than the last, and channel what little energy you have left into the shove, pushing both hands forwards forcefully—

The car is almost upon you.

A wretched sob rips free of your throat, as the constricting feeling around your chest becomes more acute. Your ribs feel like they’re collapsing on each other. Your heart feels like it’s going a million miles an hour, beating so fast that the thud-thud sounds more like a continuous note. Your harsh pants grate against your eardrums. Blackness lurks around the periphery of your increasingly blurry vision.

“Y/N!” Wanda shrieks desperately. Distantly, you register other voices in your earpiece, adding to the clamour in your mind.

Your brain belatedly realises that your power have, for whatever reason, failed you. Your instincts are _screeching_  at you, telling you to move, but you’re paralysed, caught like a deer in the headlights. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a glint of red and gold mental swooping in —  _Tony._ But he’s too far away, he’s never going to make it in time. People are shouting at you, voices are screaming in your ear—

_The car crashes into you._

The world is just a series of flashes after that.

When the car slams into you, you’re thrown backwards, colliding with an abandoned truck at full force. You crumple to the ground, pain spreading through every nerve in your body. Everything feels like it’s on fire — your skin, your nerves, your muscles — but you  _know_ , somehow, that the agony is not just because you’ve just been hit by a four thousand pound vehicle. The pain is not only a result of your physical injuries; it’s originating from a place deep within your core.

The sharp, metallic tang of blood fills your nostrils, and you feel wetness trickling down your cheek and into your mouth. You register several broken bones, possibly a couple of fractured ribs. Something inside your torso twists painfully when you try to adjust yourself. Your throat feels scratchy and you realise that you’re screaming, though you can’t hear a sound. The edges of your vision are hazy and steadily darkening. That damn tightening in your chest has intensified tenfold, morphing into a pain so indescribable that your heartbeat is beginning to stutter, as your heart is unable to beat properly.

Bright flashes of red soar across your line of sight. Seconds later, Wanda’s face appears in front of you, her cheek grimy with soot and blood trickling from a cut on her lip. Her eyes are wide and panicked, horror written all over her face. You can see her mouthing your name, but you can’t hear the sound that accompanies it.

Wanda cups your chin with both hands — she’s saying something to you, but the pain is too much now, and you can’t, you  _can’t_  focus on anything besides it. Blackness is cloaking your gaze, blocking out her face. Dimly, you register Wanda shaking your shoulders and you wince as the action jars you. Using your last remain dregs of energy, you try to croak out some words to her, but the only noises coming out of your mouth are rasping gasps.

Black spots bloom across your vision.

Oh, that darkness seems so welcoming, so easy, beckoning you towards it with promises of calming peace. There’s no pain there, physical or otherwise. You’re so tired. You’ve been fighting for so long. Your burden has become so heavy. What have you got that’s worth fighting for, anyway? It’d be so easy to let go; the darkness is right there, waiting for you. All you have to do is let yourself fall into it.

The last thing you see before blackness consumes you is the gleam of Tony’s armour as he leans down to scoop you into his arms.

It’s blissful silence after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truths are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some much-needed fluff. In the last few chapters, I broke your hearts, so now I’m gonna try to patch them up. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this series as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. Any and all feedback will be greatly appreciated!
> 
> Side note: I love the acronym I came up with.
> 
> Trigger Warning: Hospitals (and associated things)

Everything hurts.

Serenity, and the comfort of darkness has given way to a dull ache in your chest, that throbs in time with the beat of your heart.

On the bright side, at least you’re not dead.

You take stock of the situation. You’re lying on a fairly firm mattress and between your fingertips, you can feel starchy, slightly stiff sheets. There’s a chemical scent in the air that is reminiscent of antiseptic soap — you must be in a hospital, or possibly the med bay. You can make out the gentle beeping and whirring of machines somewhere on your left side, and you can feel the tubes attached to your right arm. A cannula rests beneath your nose, delivering oxygen to your lungs. Someone is holding your right hand.

By cracking your eyes open just a fraction, you’re able to look around the room. The walls are glaringly white and sterile, leading you to conclude that you must be in a medical facility somewhere, as the med bay most certainly does  _not_  look like this. The fluorescent lights overhead paint the room in a bleak light; through the window, you can see that it’s still pretty dark out.

Carefully, you twist your neck from left to right to see who’s in the room with you. Mia has fallen asleep in a chair to your right, forehead resting on your bed and hand tightly clutching yours. Behind her, in the corner of the room, is Steve, squashed into a too-small armchair with his head lolled back and resting against the wall. That position cannot be good for his neck. You sense another presence to your left, and when you gently turn your head that way, you’re surprised to see Bucky sitting on your other side, sleeping with his arms folded and his chin tucked to his chest. Steve and Bucky have had a shower and changed into comfortable clothes since you last saw them. You wonder how long you’ve been out.

The door swings open and your eyes flick towards it. A haggard looking Natasha steps into the room, bearing one of those take-away coffee trays. Wanda walks in behind her, carrying a large brown paper bag which you assume is filled with treats. Nat glances towards you and, when she sees that you’re awake, flashes you an encouraging smile.

“Hey,” she says softly. From behind her, Wanda gives you a little wave. The two of them set their goods down on the coffee table in front of Steve before coming to sit on the edge of your bed. All the commotion rouses Steve and Bucky and, when you give her a gentle prod, Mia wakes up too.

“Y/N?” Mia whispers, lifting her head up. Now that you can see her face, you can tell that she’s been sobbing, because her eyes are puffy and bloodshot. Her hair is a mess and she looks like she hasn’t slept in ages.

You try to sit up and hiss in pain as waves of discomfort ripple through your torso. “Oh, hold on, hun,” Mia mutters, reaching to the controls on the side of your bed and hitting a button that shifts you into a partially sitting position.

“You scared the shit outta me,” Wanda says sternly, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at you. Though her tone is harsh, there’s a tenderness in her eyes which leads you to believe that she’s really glad to see that you’re okay.

“Sorry,” you croak, wincing when you hear your voice for the first time; you sound like you haven’t had a drop of water for a day. Realising this, Bucky turns around and retrieves a glass of water with a straw in it from the table behind him and brings it to your lips. You smile gratefully at him, before taking a sip.

Steve drags his chair over and comes to sit beside your sister. The expression on his face resembles that of a heartbroken puppy. You’re not sure why he’s here — he doesn’t seem angry at you, thankfully, so perhaps the animosity between you two has been forgotten?

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the bed.

“Ow,” you reply, giving him a ghost of a smile.

“Ow is right,” Nat says crisply. “Let me break it down for you, Y/N,” she continues, “You’re in a Stark-funded private hospital, so you can be sure that all the equipment and personnel here are top of the line. You’ve been out for nearly eighteen hours. You’ve got a couple of fractured ribs, severe bruising and lacerations practically everywhere, but besides that, you’re okay,”.

You grimace. “Okay, no wonder everything hurts,” you mutter. “Where’re Tony and Bruce and Sam?” you ask.

Steve chuckles, “We sent them back a few hours ago. We’ve all been taking shifts here. It was gonna change from me and Bucky to Wanda and Nat, but since you’re already awake, we might as well stay and talk,”.

“Talk?” you repeat timidly.

“Y/N, whatever happened out there wasn’t normal,” Wanda interjects, “I could  _feel_  you. The pain was…it was worse than when I lost Pietro!”

You press your lips together, shutting your mouth firmly. Mia sighs, bending down to retrieve something from her purse. She pulls out the Soul Ring you’ve been wearing around your neck and holds it up. As expected, the Stone in the centre is its inert aquamarine colour. She holds it out towards you. “Put it on,” Mia instructs.

“Don’t want to,” you say sullenly.

She rolls her eyes at your childishness, then grabs the hand that’s closest to her and slides the ring on — it’s not like you have much strength to resist her grip, anyway. You watch as the blue gives way to a pale green colour.

“What is that?” Bucky asks, looking at the ring curiously. Everyone else in the room is doing likewise, except for Mia, who’s looking at you with sad eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she murmurs, “Y/N, why—oh, there’s so much I need to tell you,”.

Mia takes a deep breath, then turns to address the rest of the group. “This is a Soul Stone which has been fashioned into a Soul Ring,” she explains. “It’s one of the few genuine ones remaining. When worn, the Stone senses the aura of the wearer, and will indicate if that person has a soulmate by glowing a brighter shade of its inert colour — so this ring would glow bright blue,”.

“What does the green mean?” Steve asks.

Mia hesitates, casting a sideways glance towards you. You shrug indifferently; now seems like a good a time as ever to tell them the truth. “The Stone changes colour when the wearer nears their soulmate,”.

“Y/N has a soulmate?” Natasha cries, stunned. Similar expressions are worn on everyone else’s faces.

Mia nods slowly, “She does, and that person is in this room right now. The question is: who?”. At the last word, everyone’s eyes turn to you.You fidget under the scrutiny, wishing that the unconsciousness would take you back into its embrace — life was so easy then. Mia rests her fingers on your forearm. When she next speaks, her tone is quiet and gentle. “Sweetheart, you need to tell me. I think it’ll help me understand what’s wrong with you,”.

You swallow nervously and focus on your hands where they are clasped in your lap. “Bucky,” you whisper.

“What?” Bucky gasps. You wince and clench your hands tighter, not wanting to look at any of them.  

“Y/N? Why didn’t you say anything?” Natasha asks gently. Unexpectedly, tears spring to your eyes and a hot flush spreads across your cheeks. Mia gets up and sits on your bed, brushing the back of her hand over your cheek to wipe your tears away. She pulls you against her chest and tenderly strokes your hair.

“Okay, well, that explains a lot,” Mia says quietly, “Oh, darling, we’ve got so much explaining to do,”. You nod against her chest and take a few shaky inhales, willing yourself to calm down. “First off, let’s start with the basics, when did you find out that Bucky was your soulmate?”

You take a shuddery breath. “Um, the night I came back from your house,” you reply, turning to look at Bucky through your lashes. “I—remember? I bumped into you in the kitchen and that’s when I saw the Stone turn green,”.

Bucky’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Steve jumps in at the last second. “Why didn’t you say anything? To me?” Steve asks, concern furrowing his brow.

“I—well—um,” you stutter, at a loss for words. Mia rubs slow, reassuring circles on your back to calm you down, and you force yourself to swallow before continuing. “Steve, I—we need to tell them. About…the thing that you and me were…” your voice trails off as Steve grimaces, then shrugs.

“Yeah, okay, go ahead,”, he sighs.

You nod. “So, here’s how everything started. Steve and I broke up because Steve was— _is_ —in love with someone else,” you begin, surprised at how level your voice sounds.

“And that someone is Bucky?” Natasha guesses.

“WHAT?!” Bucky cries, gaping at Steve in astonishment. Steve flushes hotly and awkwardly scratches the back of his neck.

“Um, yeah,” he says slowly, drawing out the second word. “I—I’ve felt that way since we were teens, Buck. And…when you came back…and with the way the world is now, being more accepting of…those kinds of relationships…I thought…maybe we had a chance?” Steve says haltingly, the hope and timidness clear in his tone.

“Oh, you punk, c’mere,” Bucky murmurs, standing up and going around the bed to wrap Steve in a tight hug. “I love you too,” he breathes fiercely. It’s a touching moment, but the sight makes you wince as a flash of pain zings through your chest. Your sister notices and clears her throat.

“Hey, boys, you can have your love confessions later, okay?” Mia snaps, her harsh tone prompting Steve and Bucky to jump apart. Mia jerks her head towards you, “Pressing issues over here,”.

“You’re not mad?” Wanda asks, poking Nat in the ribs as the boys return to their respective seats.

Natasha shrugs indifferently. “It’s pretty obvious that these two are head over heels for each other. Well, obvious to me, at least,” she amends.

“Oh god, can this day get anymore confusing?,” Wanda whispers, eyes wide and darting around everyone in the room.

You laugh quietly, then clear your throat before carrying on with your story. “So, once Steve told me about this, we set about trying to set the two of you up—,”.

“Which is why Steve took me to all those places,” Bucky says, realisation dawning on his face.

“We called it Operation Soulmate, funnily enough,” Steve chuckles.

Natasha rolls her eyes, and Bucky snorts. Even Wanda manages to giggle.

“Yep. And I was so happy for him, and it was fun, to be honest,”. You hesitate, “And then…Natasha told me about the two of you,”.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise how much of a pickle I put you in,” Nat says immediately, then turns her attention to the rest of the group. “I confronted Y/N one morning and asked her to keep Steve out of Bucky’s life for a while, so that Barnes and I could spend more time together. Whatever happened from then on was my fault,”

“Oh for god’s sake,” you grumble, “Stop taking all the credit. Yes, you and Steve both put me in an awkward position. I had to lie, and I had to keep secrets from people I care about, and it was  _hard_ , but I did it because I love you, you great dummies,”.

Steve clears his throat. “Well, Y/N, I’m sorry I got so angry with you when I found out about this. I should have asked for your version of the story, before I started accusing you of things,”.

“It’s okay, Stevie,” you soothe, “You were hurt. I get it, it’s okay,”.

He shakes his head fiercely. “No, it’s not. I—Y/N, why did you help me? Even if you knew what Bucky was to you?”

“Because I saw, how much Bucky means to you,” you reply quietly. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Bucky flashing Steve a smug smile, and have to resist the urge to swat his shoulder. “Besides, mates don’t always end up together. When I first started helping you, I didn’t know, obviously, that Bucky was my mate. And by the time I  _did_  know, I was in too deep,”. You shrug, “My happiness kinda felt secondary to yours and Natasha’s. I felt like you deserved Bucky more than I did,”.

“Y/N!” Wanda scolds.

“Sorry. I thought if I made you happy — all of you, that is — I’d be happy too,” you admit shyly, realising how stupid that idea is once you voice it out. “I just wanted to see my friends being happy…and in the process…forgot about myself, I guess,”.

“Damn right, you did,” Steve mutters.

“I’m just… little lost in all this,” Wanda whispers.

“Also, how does this relate to Y/N collapsing on us yesterday?” Bucky interrupts, looking to Mia.

Mia nods, sitting up a little straighter. “Right, now that we’ve got the context sorted out, I can start explaining your condition to you—,”

“I have a condition?” you interrupt, whipping your head to the side to look at her.

“You have a very severe condition of NARS, otherwise known as Neglect and Rejection Syndrome,” Mia explains. “Very few cases of it have been documented, and it’s existence is a result of a fairly new school of thought in soulmate-lore. Lucky for you, my uni dissertation was literally, ‘What is NARS and why does it occur?’,”.

“I love you, d’you know that?” you say dryly, even as you squeeze her hand in thanks.

Mia chuckles. “Good to know. So, NARS. How does it come about? Well, several theories exist, but they all point towards the same conclusion: it arises when a soulmate is in love with and in close proximity to their other half,  _without_ having that love reciprocated. So, by Y/N being around Bucky and pining after him—,”

“Wasn’t pining,” you grumble.

“Well,  _caring_ about him, then, without Bucky having similar feelings for Y/N—,”

“She was in trouble?” Natasha finishes.

Mia nods. “A whole lot of trouble,”.

“I have a question,” Wanda says, “Why couldn’t Bucky feel the soulmate bond? Wait—actually, that’s a good question.  _Did_  you feel a soulmate bond?”. All eyes turn to Bucky now.

Bucky squirms in his seat. “Um, well, I  _care_  for Y/N too, but I guess not in the way she did for me? I dunno, I’ve mostly been focused on Natasha, I guess, and haven’t had romantic feelings for anyone besides her. Is something…wrong with me?” he asks Mia.

“No. Your medication, your relationship with Natasha, even, possibly, the mental trauma that resulted from your time with HYDRA — all these could have hindered your ability to feel the mate bond,” Mia explains swiftly. “Anyway, just to make sure we’re all on the same page, let me put it in a nutshell for you: NARS is the condition where mate A has feelings for mate B, but mate B is either oblivious to the bond, or does not give the adequate amount of attention back — hence, ‘neglect’,”

“Got it,” you murmur, “And you’re telling me that this is why I’ve been feeling like death all the time,”.

“Correct,” Mia replies, “And here’s the thing — NARS gets worse with time. Prolonging your exposure can increase the severity of the symptoms. Physical exertion, additional mental stress, a hostile or tense everyday environment will do the same. If your mate happens to be in a relationship with someone else, that can make your subconscious feel even  _more_ neglected,”.

“I think it’s safe to say that Y/N was experiencing all of the above,” Bucky remarks dryly.

“Exactly,” Mia says, “And that’s why her condition was so bad. It’s probably the worst case I’ve ever heard of,”

“Yikes,” Wanda mutters.

“So—these…chest pains, those are the symptoms you’re referring to, right?” you ask.

“Chest pains are often reported as the most common symptom,” Mia agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “Actually, what really happens is that the heart…weakens, for want of a better word. Searing, intense discomfort may be felt in the heart, chest and head. Physical activity becomes much harder,”.

“I can vouch for all of the above,” you mutter, disgruntled.

“In extreme cases, where the individual is experiencing  _extremely_ prolonged exposure, depression and other mental issues may crop up. NARS can get misdiagnosed and therefore mistreated,”, Mia says.

You think back to the conversations that you’d had with Sam and Wanda. You suppose that you  _have_  been feeling down in recent weeks, though you attributed this to the accumulated fatigue of going on missions, dealing with Steve and holding so many secrets close to your chest.

“Particularly acute flares of pain may be experienced when your other half is experiencing love, that is not as a result of you,” Mia adds.

“Like in the common room?” Natasha asks, looking to you, “When you were gasping and all that, was that because you saw Barnes and I together?”

“Probably,” you admit quietly.

Steve pipes up. “So—what happened yesterday, was that just an accumulation of all this stress, or…”

Mia hesitates, chewing on her lip. “Well, here’s the scary part. The thing with NARS, is that if it goes unaddressed, the condition is life-threatening for the individual,” she says quietly.

A heavy silence settles over the room as everyone absorbs that piece of information. “You nearly died, Y/N,” Mia murmurs.

“Y/N, I’m so,  _so_ , sorry,” Bucky says, taking your hand in both of his and bringing it to his lips. “Darling, if I knew what I was putting you though, I—,”. He cuts himself off and turns away, tears brimming on his bottom lashes. You squeeze his hand reassuringly.

“S’okay, Bucky,” you whisper, “S’not your fault. I should’ve said something,”. He shakes his head in denial, then presses another kiss to your knuckles.

“So…what now?” Wanda asks, looking between you and Bucky, then Natasha and Steve. “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but you three,” she points towards you, Nat and Steve, “Each want some of the Bucky pie over there,”.

“There’s plenty of me to go ‘round,” Bucky drawls, grinning cockily.

“Y/N should be the one to get Barnes,” Natasha says immediately.

At the same time, Steve says, “Y/N and Bucky should be together,”. Their eyes meet and they share a sheepish grin.

“No—I don’t want to take that from either of you!” you protest, dismayed.

“Y/N, would you stop thinking about us and just do what  _you_  want, for once?” Wanda interrupts.

“But how can I?” you whine, “I can’t—knowing that—,”

“But you’ll  _die_ , if you’re not with him!” Steve argues

“If the two of you are not together—,” Nat interrupts.

“Why does everyone think soulmates have to be in a romantic relationship?” Mia cries frustratedly, silencing all arguments. “Just because soulmates are ‘meant to be together’, does not mean they’re meant to be together  _romantically._ Platonic mate bonds are equally powerful. If Y/N and Bucky spend time together, and keep communication open between them, so that no one starts feeling neglected by the other, things’ll be fine,”

You and Bucky glance towards each other. “Yeah..I…I don’t love you romantically…now,” you say slowly, “But…I can deal with us being friends?”

Bucky smiles brightly at you. “Me too,” he agrees. Steve whoops, Mia rubs your shoulder, Wanda claps her hands enthusiastically, and even Natasha manages a smile.

“I hereby declare,” Steve says dramatically, raising his hands for emphasis, “That Operation Soulmate’s objective shall thus forth be amended to this: to make sure that Y/N doesn’t fucking almost die on us again because Bucky’s not giving her enough attention,”.

“Hey! Who the fuck gave you the right to give orders around here?” Bucky protests, eyes alight with mischief.

“Deal with it, jerk. I’m your goddamn Captain,” Steve says loftily, a cheeky grin tugging on his lips.

“Great. I for one am in support of me not dying,” you mutter, leaning your head against the pillow and letting your eyes slide shut. “The rest of you can sort your differences out amongst yourselves. I think I deserves a nap after all this,”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all feedback is much appreciated!
> 
> If you'd like to share this work on tumblr, then [here](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/164927070595/operation-soulmate-masterlist-pairings-steve-x/) is the masterlist.


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